Several parents shared their children’s homework, that made them tilt their heads and call for help. Fortunately, some Reddit and Twitter users came to the rescue and shared their two cents.
The older one gets, the more complex educational work assigned to students gets. However, there are some instances where kids receive complicated homework.
When such instances arise, some parents seek the help of the online community to derive an answer for their little ones. Some of them are shared on the Reddit and Twitter platforms.
Grade 1 English
A mom was puzzled by her first-grade son’s English homework, where he had to encircle the photos that had the same ending sound as a fish’s fin. However, the options available were far from the picture. The available choices included a hamburger bun, a frog, a jar lid, and a spoon.
Some Reddit users offered their thoughts to the clueless mom, stating that the ending sound did not necessarily have to rhyme with fin. Some answers included bun and spoon, which both ended with an “n.”
Kindergarten School Work
Kindergarten homework questions are usually easy to answer with an adult’s help. However, one parent couldn’t think of the three-letter word required to name the picture printed on the activity sheet. The picture included a rabbit with her bunnies playing.
Fortunately, a kind Reddit user thought of the best possible answer: pet. “These kinds of worksheets try to make the last one more difficult by switching the sound of the letter to the end of the word to try and throw the kid off,” the person said.
Grade 3 Math Problem
Math problems for elementary students are often easily computed with all the numbers given in the problem. However, a Grade 3 student had to solve the question, “Janell had 15 marbles. She lost some of them. How many does Janell have now?”
One Reddit user suggested that the answer was less than 15 but did not think it was a fair question for someone in the third grade. Other users believed that the student should answer in a similar manner as the question, such as “Janell lost her marbles.” Another user said, “She has some left.”
A Six-Year-Old’s Homework
While some educational problems for six-year-olds are visual, one student’s assignment was beyond the comprehension of her parents. On her activity sheet appeared a print of a paint splatter and several apples.
The question read, “How many apples could be covered by the paint. There cannot be more than 20.” Several Reddit users were also confused by the question, while one believed it was a riddle.
Grade 1 Math
One Twitter user shared a Singaporean math problem for grade one students, and it seemed almost impossible to solve. However, one person solved the problem but tweaked the question a bit.
Another Math Problem
Another math question was posted on Twitter, leaving people confused. The question made students calculate the perimeter of a shape best on the calculations of another rectilinear shape.
One person replied to the post with a complicated answer and sarcastically said, “It’s very much justified to ask these to a [ten-year-old].”
Solving for X
Math can sometimes be complicated but often has one solution. However, this one math problem was too complex for the Twitter world.
“An orchestra of 120 players takes 40 minutes to play Beethoven’s 9th Symphony. How long would it take for 60 players to play the symphony? Let P be the number of players and T the time playing,” the question read. While it may be too complex, one Twitter person replied:
“The math is irrelevant in the case of this Beethoven 9 problem. As a performer who has performed it many times, the speed of the symphony is NOT a function of the number of musicians performing it.”
Reddit is one of the online forums people go to for questions. Previously, Reddit users shared 10 Intriguing Items That Perplex Observers with Their Form and Function.
AT 78, I SOLD EVERYTHING I HAD AND BOUGHT ONE WAY TICKET TO SEE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE – IN THE PLANE, MY DREAM WAS CRUSHED
The worn leather of the suitcase felt rough against my trembling hands. Forty years. Forty years of regret, of guilt gnawing at my soul. Forty years since I had last seen Elizabeth, the love of my life. Forty years since my own stupidity had torn us apart.
I glanced at the address scribbled on a crumpled piece of paper, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. 123 Maple Street, Willow Creek, Ohio. It felt like a destination in a dream, a place I had only ever dared to imagine.
The plane ride was a blur. My mind raced, a whirlwind of memories and “what ifs.” What would she look like now? Would she still have that mischievous glint in her eyes, that infectious laugh that used to fill our small apartment? Would she recognize me, this old man, weathered by time and regret?
As the plane began its descent, a wave of dizziness washed over me. I gripped the armrests, my knuckles white. My chest felt tight, a burning sensation spreading through my lungs. Voices, muffled and distant, seemed to come from far away.
“Sir, are you alright?”
I tried to respond, but only a strangled gasp escaped my lips. The world tilted, then plunged into darkness.
When I awoke, I was in a sterile white room, the smell of antiseptic filling my nostrils. A blurry image of concerned faces swam into view – a nurse, a doctor, a young woman with kind eyes.
“Where… where am I?” I croaked, my voice weak and raspy.
“You’re at St. Jude’s Hospital, sir,” the young woman said gently. “You suffered a heart attack. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Heart attack. The words echoed in my mind, a stark reminder of my mortality. But a different thought, more urgent, pushed its way to the forefront. Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth,” I rasped, my voice hoarse. “Is she… is she here?”
The young woman hesitated, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and uncertainty. “I… I don’t know, sir. Who is Elizabeth?”
My heart sank. Had I imagined it? Had the years of loneliness and regret twisted my mind, creating a fantasy, a desperate hope?
Days turned into weeks. I spent my recovery in the hospital, haunted by the uncertainty. The doctors assured me that I was stable, but the fear of losing consciousness again, of never seeing Elizabeth, lingered.
One afternoon, as I sat by the window, watching the world go by, a familiar figure appeared in the doorway. A woman, her hair streaked with silver, her eyes crinkled at the corners. She was more beautiful than I remembered, her face etched with the lines of time, yet her smile was the same, the same smile that had captivated me all those years ago.
“Arthur,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Tears welled up in my eyes. It was her. Elizabeth.
She rushed towards me, her arms open wide. I held her close, burying my face in her hair, inhaling the scent of lavender, a scent that transported me back to a time of youthful dreams and endless possibilities.
“I never stopped loving you, Arthur,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I never stopped waiting.”
And in that moment, I knew that despite the years that had passed, despite the pain and the regret, love, true love, had a way of finding its way back home.
As we held each other, the world seemed to melt away. The years of separation, the loneliness, the fear – all of it seemed insignificant compared to the joy of holding her in my arms once more. We had lost so much time, but we still had now. And that, I realized, was all that truly mattered. The worn leather of my suitcase felt rough against my trembling hands. Forty years. Forty years of longing, of regret, of a life lived in a perpetual twilight. Forty years since I had last seen Elizabeth, the love of my life, the woman whose laughter still echoed in the empty chambers of my heart.
I remembered the day vividly. The rain was coming down in sheets, mirroring the storm brewing inside me. We were arguing, a petty disagreement blown out of proportion by youthful pride and stubbornness. I had stormed out, my words echoing in the rain-slicked street. “Fine,” I had spat, “I don’t need you!”
I hadn’t meant it. Not really. But the words hung heavy in the air, a cruel echo of my own anger. I walked for hours, the rain washing away my pride and replacing it with a growing dread. When I finally returned, the lights in our small apartment were off. I called her name, my voice cracking with fear, but there was no answer.
The police found her car abandoned by the river, a chilling testament to the storm that had raged within me. The search parties, the endless waiting, the gnawing uncertainty – it had aged me beyond my years. The vibrant hues of life had faded, replaced by a monotonous grey.
Then, a miracle. A letter, tucked amongst a pile of bills and advertisements, a faded envelope bearing a familiar handwriting. “I’ve been thinking of you,” it read.
The words, simple yet profound, ignited a fire within me. Hope, a fragile ember that had long since been extinguished, flickered back to life. I devoured every letter, each one a precious piece of her, a glimpse into the life she had built. I learned about her children, her grandchildren, her passions, her joys, and her sorrows. And with each letter, the ache in my heart lessened, replaced by a yearning so intense it almost consumed me.
Then, the invitation. “Come,” it read, “Come see me.”
She had included her address.
And so, here I was, 78 years old, sitting on a plane, my hands trembling, my heart pounding like a drum against my ribs. I hadn’t flown in decades. The world outside the window, a blur of clouds and sky, mirrored the chaos within me.
Suddenly, a sharp pain erupted in my chest. I gasped for air, my vision blurring. Voices, distant and muffled, filled my ears. “Sir, are you alright?” “We need to get him some air!”
Panic clawed at my throat. Not now. Not when I was finally this close.
Then, through the haze, I saw her face. Her eyes, the same shade of hazel as mine, wide with concern.
“John?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
And in that moment, time seemed to stand still. The pain, the fear, the decades of longing – they all faded away. All that remained was her. Elizabeth.
Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring her face. But I knew. I knew it was her.
And as I slipped into unconsciousness, I whispered her name, a silent prayer, a love song carried on the wind.
I woke up in a hospital room, the scent of antiseptic filling my nostrils. Elizabeth sat beside me, her hand gently clasped in mine.
“You gave me quite a scare,” she said, her voice soft as a summer breeze.
I managed a weak smile. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
And as I looked at her, at the lines etched on her face, the silver strands in her hair, I knew that this was just the beginning. We had forty years to catch up on, to rediscover the love we had lost. Forty years to make up for the time we had wasted.
And as I held her hand, I knew that this time, nothing would ever tear us apart again.
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