The sum of a life

in a world dead set on multiplication

My great uncle Floyd was a simple man.

I was told that he had scarlet fever as a child. It impacted his ability to learn.

But as a kid?

I didn’t notice that much.

Old people always seemed to be taking forever to do anything.

With Floyd though?

The kids weren’t the only ones waiting.

He’d sell gas to people taking boats up the lake.

His gas pump?

It didn’t spin nor count. He pumped gas out of the storage tank by hand and into a small container.

It’s a true gallon - an official measure. Government certified.

Quick as a switch he’d pump out five gallons to fill the read metal tanks that would get hauled down to the boats - Evinrudes, Mercuries, Johnsons and the like. Two stroke outboards making the sweetest of smells

I said they’d get hauled down to the dock then put in the boats?

That was a mistake.

Running pure gas will kill yer engine. You gotta puts the oil into ‘er first.

Floyd never forgot the oil.

Then?

Then he’d take out his notebook.

On a line he’d write the price for a gallon of gas.

Then he’d do that again and again and again - five times in total!

One would think you could just multiply the cost of one gallon.

You could.

Floyd didn’t.

He’d add up all five gallons in a stack.

Then he’d add on the oil.

As for the tax?

Back then there wasn’t tax on fuel or oil so he didn’t have to trouble himself with percentages.

All day long he’d sell gas.

The same five gallons with the same bottle of oil, over and over again.

Each time he did it the same.

I do the sums. It all adds up. This way I know I’m getting it right.

It always took him a while to get things done.

Even as a kid, I knew there was something different about Floyd.

Maybe I thought he was slow, or stubborn, or just weird.

I was a kid. He was an adult. Though our paths crossed, our worlds never met.

Either way, by the time I was nine, I was better at math than him.

But he could haul trees taller than towers outta the woods with only a horse and a block and tackle.

I grew up thinking the slow ones were missing something.

Now, I wonder if maybe they just saw something the rest of us missed.

Floyd’s math was slow. His work was steady.

And with a bit of finesse and a big, powerful horse, the trees always came out of the woods.

I never really could get a handle on who Floyd was.

Even now, trying to tie together the snippets of his life, it doesn’t add up.

But maybe, that’s why he was here.

While the rest of us were running around taking shortcuts with our fancy multiplication tables, Floyd stuck with sums.

And that, dear reader, is right sum good.

Stay stinky, you fools!