2 + 2

My brother wants to hear our father say, "I'm proud of you, Son." It's a bit of a problem. Logistically, I mean. Dad's been dead for nearly six years.

But I think they may finally be making peace with one another. And of all things, it is math that's bringing them together.

When he was in high school, my brother not only struggled with math, he hated it. Despised it. He tried to avoid taking even the basic classes required for high school graduation. In classic teenage-style, he informed our father that he would never need math when he grew up. This was bad. Dad loved math. He excelled at it. He could do complex problems in his head. And he knew how much he used it every day in his profession, the same profession my brother wanted to pursue.

Last night, my brother called me. He informed me he had two brain cells. This was up from the half of a functioning brain cell he had last Friday. They are multiplying. Last Friday, he completed a two-week long Level II Accident Reconstruction course. It took algebra, geometry, and even some trigonometry. My brother used vectors, the Pythagorean Theorem, and advanced calculations involving three dimensions. He struggled, but he passed.

Dad would've been proud.