The Highest Number
Unclear on the Concept

I am four years old, or perhaps I have turned five—it’s a bit out of focus way back there. There is me and a just-as-four-or-five-year-old friend (who lived in the larger-than-ours third-floor apartment across from ours) are having a spirited argument about which one of us had won the just-finished and very fictitious around-the-world bicycle race. We were the only two competitors of any consequence.

My friend had a real (as in two-wheel) bicycle. His dad, I thought, was much cooler than mine for he gave my friend things like new, real (two-wheel) bicycles, whereas my dad did no such thing for me, not even close. Well, food on the table and a roof over my head, which does count, but not very much in the bicycle department.

My friend, showing off not a little, was leaning on his brilliant, quite new, (two-wheel) red bicycle.

Me, I only had a three-wheeler and I had left it at home. I had outgrown that little thing, really, but my dad had opted not to notice.

Now, neither of us was very clear on the concept of winning races for in our minds the higher the number the better. Higher was bigger and bigger, obviously, was better than smaller. Any day. So, my friend said he had finished the race “Number thousand,” while I, being good at math for my age and therefore knew how to be twice as good, countered with “Number two thousand.”

Not to be outdone that easily, my friend changed his result to number five thousand. I countered with ten.

Number million, said my friend.

Number five hundred million, said I. That would clinch it for sure.

Not so fast though: Number six hundred million, said the fox.

Well, take this then: Number thousand million, said I.

Number ten thousand million, said he.

Number hundred thousand million, said I.

My friend took a leap. A leap I had no idea he was capable of taking: Number infinity, said he.

Okay, but how about this: Number two infinities, said I.

Number five infinities, said he, a little unsure how big that might be.

Number hundred infinities, said I, equally at sea by now.

Well, you can see where this was heading, but never had a chance to get there for by now it was time to go inside and eat dinner, our respective mothers calling from their respective third-floor kitchen windows, “You two, come in and eat!”

Tacitly agreeing to leave the race undecided for now, we headed back inside and up the two sets of stairs to the third floor landing, he heading left and me right. See you later.

Not too long after that, it came as quite the surprise for me to discover that when it came to being the fastest, the smaller number was the better one, and the smallest of all, the best. One was the very best, two the runner-up. I think it was my mom who put me straight on this, keeping a straight face.

Sometimes, when new information runs too counter to the current and well-established norm, it takes a while to digest it, to understand and let it sink in. Yes, I chewed on this for some time before it made sense: bigger was not always better. How very interesting.

This, of course, made for much shorter debates as to who won fictitious races around the world: whoever said “number one” first was the winner, obviously.

Neither of us thought about countering with “number half.”

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