Ada Lovelace

            “My dear roses, did you know that the first ever computer programmer was a woman?”  The old lady who takes care of the flowers in the public park close to the high school smells one large bud of rose and closes her eyes.  Three friends who have just finished their classes watch her, and simultaneously shake their heads.

            “No, we don’t, and our friend Rose isn’t here today,” says Nabi, sliding next to the small, wrinkly lady.  She leans to see the woman’s face and waves.  “Hello, by the way.”

            Maria pulls her back and shakes her head.  “Come on.  You know it’s never going to happen.  She only talks to the roses.”  She pauses.  “And we don’t have a friend Rose.”

            The two of them join their friend Louise at the bench next to the flowerbeds and take out their notebooks, ready to take notes.  Maria, Louise, and Nabi like to go to the park after school—not to play, not to feed ducks, not to skate with the boys, but to listen to stories from the old, fat lady taking care of the flowers who they believe is smarter than all their teachers combined.

Most people assume that the tiny, kind of scary-looking lady is crazy.  Maria, Nabi and Louise thought so too at first.  After all, she had the tendency to mutter to herself while trimming flowers.  It wasn’t until three months ago that the three of them realized that the lady was telling stories to the roses.  And those stories always helped them ace their tests.

  “Her name was Ada Lovelace.  She was a Countess because she just so happened to marry a baron who became an earl, but you don’t care about that, do you?  You don’t like romantic stories.”

Nabi raises her hand.  “I do!”

Louise helps her put her hand down.  “Still not talking to you, Nabi.  You don’t have thorns.”

“Anyway, her father is also a baron.  And a poet.  And a womanizer.  He’s really more famous than she is, but that’s obvious because he’s a man.  And history is just obsessed with me even when they did nothing but their lives but write about their love affairs.”

“You ever get the feeling that Mrs. Rose really hates men?”  asks Maria.

Louise shrugs.  “She’s allowed her own opinions.  Anyway, do you know who she’s talking about?  Who’s the Countess’ dad?”

“His name is Byron, a silly poet.  Although of course history has glorified him quite a lot.  But in my opinion, Ada is really the one who deserves recognition.  Without her, the nasty kids these days won’t even be able to dream of those tiny gadgets they’re always using.”

“Ah,” Louise nods.  “That guy.”

            “At least her mother was sensible.  The gracious woman, bless her heart, provided Ada with tutors in Math and Science.  And my dear roses, people those days really thought those subjects were just for men.  My husband can’t even count his own toes.”  The old lady shakes her head.  “They really think they know everything because they have an extra limb between their legs.”

            “I think she means penis,” Nabi says.

            Maria and Louise respond in unison.  “You think?”

            The old lady cuts another decaying leaf.  “Anyway, it paid off because Ada soon became quite the Mathematician.  She meets Charles Babbage, not cabbage, no.  No, I’m not replacing you with cabbages.  What am I going to do with those?  Make a salad?  I just meant Ada met Charles Babbage, a man who is known as the father of computers.  They first met at a party, and lovely Ada was fascinated by his work.”

            “What did he do?  Well, he made the Analytical Engine, which the world considers the first computer.  It’s really a spin-off to the Difference Engine, which is a calculating machine that the British government commissioned from him.  And, well, he never quite finished it but it was meant to be a general-purpose, fully program-controlled, automatic mechanical digital computer. It would be able to perform any calculation set before it.”

  “In 1843 there was a French article written about it by some Italian engineer, Luigi Menabrea.  Dearest Ada translated it and also added extensive notes of her own that included the first published description of stepwise sequence of operations for solving certain mathematical problems.”

Maria, Louise and Nabi turns to each other.  “What?”

“It really was quite long.  But it showed that she saw through the potential of Babage’s machine, more so than Babbage could see himself.  She speculated that the Engine might be able to do things apart from calculating numbers.  She thought it could handle letters and symbols too.  Maybe it could compose elaborate and scientific pieces of music.  She theorized a method for the engine to repeat a series of instructions, a process known as looping that computer programs use today, and bottomline is, she’s a prophet.  She knew what was up, that little Countess.  She saw further than those men did, and history has proven her right.”

“After all, the world is drowning in computers that can handle letters and symbols today.”

The old lady starts humming, and Maria, Nabi and Louise start clearing their bags.  The humming is their sign that the lady is done with her story now, and that they need to go home if they don’t want to be disowned by their parents.

“Well, that was interesting,” Nabi muses on the way home.

Maria looks at her.  “You’re googling her once you’re home, right?”

Louise nods sharply.  “Got that right.”

Yeah, see.  The lady has fascinating stories.  But computers tell them more completely.

“Anyway, at least next time the boys try to tell us how men came up with iPad we can shove Ada Lovelace’s biography to their faces,” Louise says.

Maria and Nabi nod.  “Without Ada, the world won’t be the same.”

“Women rocks!” they all yell.