Consider these two scenarios from separate train rides this week:

On an uptown 2 train, a nicely dressed man escorts his daughter to school. She appears to be about nine years old. They are facing each other with the silver pole between them. He carries her pink backpack slung over one shoulder.

The father decides to use their commute time wisely. He quizzes her on her times tables. She is eager to do well so her father can be proud of her.

The father asks, "What's four times five?"

"Twenty! That's easy!"

"Okay. How about seven times eight?"

A little harder. She thinks. "Forty -two?"

"Nooo. Think."

The girl ticks her fingers as if she could use them to count that high. "Forty-nine?"

"Are you guessing, or do you know?"

"Uhm. Fifty-five?"

Frustration shadows across the father's face. "How can you not know the answer to this? We've studied the seven times tables over and over. Night after night."

"Fifty-nine?" She almost whispers.

The father shakes his head. "How do you expect to get into the magnet school? You're competing against kids that know their times tables already. Everything builds from here."

The corners of her mouth downturn and tears start to roll down her cheeks. In mere seconds she is bawling. "I-I-I'm sor-sor-sorry."

"Stop crying." The father pulls a hankie from his pocket. He pats her on the shoulder. "We're just going to have to study harder. That's all."

************************************************************
The Brooklyn-bound Q train is crowded, but most people who want a seat have found one. A heavy-set and eccentric father is sitting closest to the door while his daughter has the middle seat next to him. It's clear where she has gotten her taste in clothes, but it could also be partially a result of the onset of her teenage years.

Resting on his stomach the father holds the Times crossword puzzle. He is smiling all over.

"We need a four-letter word for ‘Waterloo pop group.'"

"Abba."

"Of course! Abba." He writes it in the squares. "You weren't even alive then."

"I went to see Mamma Mia, remember?"

"Yes, yes." He nods. "How about ‘Melville captain?'"

"Ahab!" They both say at the same time.

"Eight down: ‘Before to bards.'"

"How many letters?"

"Three."

The girl looks at the ceiling with her Bette Davis eyes, eyes that will someday be her favorite feature, and says, "I don't know." She rested her head on her father's ample arm.

"Okay, let's try another one." He scanned the clues. "Got the gold."

"First," she said.

"You're first in my book," the father said.

The girl rolled her eyes as only teenagers can, but her lips curled ever so slightly.

Jacquelin Cangro