Column: Science simply seemed more malleable to me

Far too often, I’m afraid, we tend to conflate math and science into a single, amorphous whole, the way we do reading and writing.

It’s understandable, I suppose, but that doesn’t make it appropriate.

They’re both considered nonverbal disciplines as anyone who remembers taking the Scholastic Aptitude Test can readily attest.

Speaking of the SAT, I took mine on a Saturday morning, which I’ve always felt was an interesting academic coincidence, but upon further reflection, I’ve come to the conclusion everybody took the college admission exams on the first day of a weekend.

I mean it was a marathon, two three-hour sessions divided by an all-too-brief break, one I suspect caused more than one student to duck out the back door, having fried their brains to a nasty crisp.

This tendency was largely responsible, I suspect, for the burgeoning growth industry involving paying someone else to take the exam using another person’s name and other identification markers. Every school district probably had its share of urban myths that surround such chicanery, though it was hard to prove.

That was back in the educational Stone Age of chalkboards and slide rules, of overhead projectors and the occasional film strip, relics of a bygone era, one that wasn’t predicated on smartphones.

These days, I’d imagine, SAT security is tighter than that used by NORAD, an implacable, impenetrable barrier akin to a fish weir.

Still, kids are going to be tempted to find ways around even the most stringent safeguards, no matter the cost of getting busted.

I have no idea how educators deal with cheating, be it plagiarism in English class or fudging the test results of the SAT or the ACT.

It must be a full-time job, sleuthing and detecting, listening to cafeteria conversations, having informants willing to supply evidence, not so much different, I guess, than methods used by prison guards.

Wait a second. Cheating and prisons? What’s going on here?

This column seems to have drifted considerably from the topic I’d intended to examine … give me a minute to collect my thoughts.

OK. I’m back. Math and science. That’s where we’re headed now.

Let’s begin with the basics.

Math is largely theoretical — theorems and formulae — whereas science deals with more tangible ingredients, test tubes and Bunsen burners. Math leaves no room for error: Either an answer is correct or it’s not. Science is always more — what’s the word? — flexible.

Consider Pythagoras and Einstein. Both possessed undeniable genius, but I think I’d rather sit down for a cold one with Albert.

Same thing with Euclid and Carl Sagan, Newton and Marie Curie.

I understand why both math and science were stressed in school. Both were essential in providing a balanced background, a solid support system, as students made their way into the real world.

Since that’s a universal truth, so must be each individual’s reaction.

In my case, that preference is rooted in ninth grade biology class.

Unlike almost all of my classmates who had been exposed to the public school system all of their lives, I came into that experience an absolute unknown, a cipher, a blank slate, a confused novice.

It was my first class on my first day away from my parochial school incubator and was, as such, a step into the great unknown.

To begin with, we weren’t anchored in the same classroom all day; instead of teachers coming to us, we traveled up and down staircases, heading for them, a truly revelatory difference. Add to that the reality of lockers in which we could store unused textbooks, stir in a bit of smoke from the boys room and mix with a relaxed dress code, and you had the ingredients for a massive shift.

And then, as soon as I’d gotten used to the landscape, the teacher said, “Ladies and gentlemen, today we’re going to dissect a frog.”

I kept waiting for a knowing smirk on his face or a bit of nervous laughter from those of us in our unassigned seats, something, anything, to let me in on the inside joke, but there was nothing of the sort, just eager looks of determined concentration all around.

And then we were all issued scalpels. In Catholic school the nuns barely trusted us with kiddie scissors, the kind with rounded blades.

This guy, with the jawbone sideburns and caustic sense of humor, was handing out serious scientific equipment … and I loved it all.

The smell of formaldehyde permeated my nostrils as I began the dissection procedure, one that involved scraping and excavating, a true educational expedition, one for which I was utterly unprepared.

But unlike most of my math classes, I learned from my mistakes.

Yes, you could say science and I got along from the beginning.

But in all honesty, I was much more comfortable writing papers on “One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich” or “Heart of Darkness.”

Mike Dewey can be reached at Carolinamiked@aol.com or 1317 Troy Road, Ashland, OH 44805. He invites you to join him on his Facebook page, where you can show your work on the back of the paper.