One night around eleven, I said I was done and I was quitting the problem set.
“Read it to me one more time,” he said. “We’re not stopping yet.”
We didn’t stop that night, not until close to midnight, when I finally got the whole page of problems right, every single one, and he made us both a late bowl of cereal to celebrate like we’d won something real.
“You know I never actually finished this class myself,” he admitted that night, milk still on his spoon. “Dropped out senior year, went straight to work instead. Family needed the money more than I needed the diploma right then.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me that at the start? Would’ve saved us both some embarrassment.”
“Would’ve given you an excuse to quit,” he said. “You needed someone who wasn’t going anywhere, not someone with all the answers.”
