You know what class I always wanted to take in high school? Home-Ec. It sounds really fun to sit down at a desk and learn to tackle practically anything the mid-century-modern domestic warrior could face: balancing a checkbook, operating a Singer sewing machine, baking a tray of gingerbread cookies. My dad once told me about his last home economics class before winter break, in which the class was doing the latter of these. He found it hard to believe that the recipe would only call for a quarter teaspoon of dried ginger, and decided, at his discretion, to quadruple the amount, which still seemed conservative to him. The teacher took one bite and and immediately spat it out, gasping for water. He insisted he liked the cookies, though I’ve never seen him bake dessert in my life.
Why am I writing about my father’s culinary catastrophes for you all, the readers of the Ethnomathematics blog? Because I’ve realized that ethnomathematics may have been in our schools all along, in the guise of Home Economics. My high school wasn’t large enough to accommodate the resources needed for the class, and I’ve noticed that fewer and fewer schools seem to consider it a worthwhile elective these days. But really, when has a class been more project-based or culturally responsive? When has a class been more rooted in a sense of place and in the lived experience of the students’ communities? I began my journey with the Ethnomathematics Graduate Certificate cohort full of ideals, hoping that I would learn a thing or two for teaching proof-based mathematics. As a PhD student in mathematics, hoping for a research career at university, this seemed the most rewarding route to take. I accomplished this goal earlier this semester, with my second lesson plan for the course in which I utilized set theory (particularly relation theory) to understand relationship structures in an indigenous Aboriginal group known as the Warlpiri. But here I am, talking to you about a high school elective that conjures up the image of a Eurocentric, idealized version of a privileged American family!
Well, if Ethnomathematics (particularly the wisdom of my colleagues in the cohort) has taught me one thing, it is that societal structures that smack of oppression don’t have to be that way forever. Ethnomathematics has taught me to turn impotent rage against the status quo into a curiosity and inventiveness that brings people together, rather than drives them apart. Why not have a class, then, that teaches students of all backgrounds the ways to embrace their individuality while flourishing in community with those around them? This class could encourage rigor by breaking stereotypes and bridging cultures, learning that many people have more than one way of doing things, and that is a trait of value. Students could be emboldened by the thought of performing authentic tasks, rather than cowed. I myself have found myself more inclined to pursue new (mathematical) tasks I hadn’t felt comfortable with before I began this journey: sewing, hosting friends, sailing, – and yes, doing my taxes. So you know what class I would love to take? Home Ethnomathematics.
