It’s my nature to do things the hard way. For example, on a quick dinner night you might say, “Let’s just make sandwiches!” to which I would respond, “Sounds great! But first we have to make the bread!”
So when it was decided I would teach Algebra I this fall, my first response was, “Sounds great! But first we have to source an out-of-print first edition 1965 Algebra textbook from used book sites and Ebay!”
The problem is so many newer math textbooks are filled with all sorts of tacky graphics, out of focus pictures, and loud, distracting formatting—odd choices for a discipline meant to bring order to the chaotic middle-school mind. As Americans, we love progress and innovation, but the textbook selection these days is a reminder that newer isn’t always better.
In fact, the only thing a new thing has in its favor is that it’s new. Which isn’t much considering that newness is pretty fleeting. A new thing hasn’t been tested. It cannot boast durability, lasting value, or impact—it might have all three, but that can only be discovered long after the newness is gone.
But old things—while not fresh from the cultural oven—can commend themselves on several accounts.
With age comes the ability to prove one’s durability. If you want to find out what a thing is made of, just send it to the Ashby house. A few weeks of being dropped, kicked, stacked, dropped again, left in the rain, and trampled in the backseat will determine whether it’s up to snuff. Culturally speaking, the same is true of any book, album, piece of art, or tool. Old things hardy enough to stick around after years of cultural “kicking about” are probably worth our consideration.
Age also gives time a chance to test a thing’s truthfulness. How well does a song reflect reality? Is this book true to the world around us? Does this vehicle actually suit our needs? Often, the culture that receives a new thing is its least qualified critic. But time slowly introduces critics unswayed by the long-gone newness of a thing. True things have a way of standing that test of time.
Consider, finally, that old things have to be passed down: family recipes, national anthems, myths and folklore, the faith. This transfer from father to son is what we call wisdom.
One of the frustrations of modern parents is that they don’t get the “new math.” What’s happened? It’s not that they’ve necessarily forgotten how to do math per se, but schools have implemented new math methods, unwittingly erasing parents from the equation: Parents who managed to pass Algebra can no longer help their own children on their Algebra homework!
Opting for the new over the old can sever the ties between one generation and the next—the essential links in wisdom’s chain.
A little wear, a little tear, a little yellowing at the edges. Sometimes it’s only when age sets in that we realize a thing’s real value.
An Opportunity for folks near Washington, PA!
The Algebra textbooks I’m scouring the interwebz for are part of a class I’m going to be teaching in Washington, PA for rising 7-9th graders. The Ashbys are in the midst of transition to Southwestern PA where I’ll begin the work of founding The Oaks Academy—and The Hearth is our first step!
If you live near Washington (or have family or friends who live south of Pittsburgh) check out what’s happening at The Hearth: