I read an article the other day commenting that people should stop saying they hate math or they’re bad at math because that way of thinking discourages young people, causing them to fear numbers. Instead, we should say we struggle with math but we’re always getting better.

My struggle with numbers is like the Geico lizard wrestling Godzilla.

I’ll say it up front – I hate math, I’m bad at math and I’m terrified of math.

It’s easy to figure out why my career path involves letters and words instead of numbers and equations. Writing an essay for school was never difficult, the paragraphs and words coming easily.

Not so with algebra, geometry and math.

For years, I blamed my teachers in high school. My geometry teacher, Mr. Deere, was absolutely awful. He showed up for class after the bell rang, gave our papers back late and spent most of his time sitting at his desk, looking at motorcycle magazines.

My algebra teacher was our head varsity basketball coach. It was like catching fish in a barrel to divert his attention away from equations and over to the game of the week. I remember writing notes to my best friend or reading a book while he dissected plays on the blackboard, the athletes in the room arguing maneuvers and strategy day after day.

In college, I only had to take one math class, and the teacher was rigid and strict. I wish I could remember his name because his ethics about teaching shaped my philosophy about how to be a good employee. He told us he would not miss a day of class because we’d paid for this class, and it was his obligation to be there. Not only was he in class every day, but he was a thorough teacher.

That class was the first time I felt comfortable with math, and I actually made good grades in that class. More than that, I understood the formulas and procedures because he made sure we got it. I left there feeling confident.

After that, I worked as a secretary, and math wasn’t a big part of my job, so that confidence slowly faded away. But my lack of math skills cost me money. I relied on “experts” at the bank and the credit union to keep track of my money and accounts. I couldn’t do my taxes, so I paid someone to do them for me, even though they were pretty simple.

One year, I got a letter from the Internal Revenue Service stating I owed them $500. I panicked and sent the check right in, never questioning their decision. Years later, I got another letter from them, stating I owed even more money.

By that time, I was married, and my math genius husband stepped in. He re-calculated my taxes from that year and deduced I didn’t owe the money. Instead, the IRS owed me a refund plus interest.

He explained the entire process – I pretended I followed the numbers – and said I should sign a letter to the IRS he’d written, demanding interest and my money back.

All I could see was myself behind bars, but I had faith in my husband, signed the document and sent it in.

A few weeks later, I got a check from the IRS and an apology for their mistake.

Math to the rescue.

Being married to someone who calculates numbers in their head as easily as I can sing “Happy Birthday” has been a blessing. It’s also a crutch because I pass over anything having to do with numbers to my hubby.

And my trusty phone that’s absolutely amazing at remembering dates, figuring out percentages when I’m shopping the sales, keeping track of my car’s mileage, timing how long I need to bake chicken, reminding me of important dates and keeping a working list of every phone number I’ll ever need.

Numbers to the rescue.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.