Two years old. \u00c2\u00a0Running around in the lakehouse, I fall face first into the only non-childproof, sharp metal edge and gash my lip open. \u00c2\u00a0I have no memory of this incident. \u00c2\u00a0Only a faint scar.<\/p>\n
Four years old. \u00c2\u00a0I wander into the basement. \u00c2\u00a0My dad and his coworker and working on some sort of circuit board on the workbench. \u00c2\u00a0While their backs are turned, I find what might be the only pair of un-insulated pliers in the entire workshop. \u00c2\u00a0I run up to the board, jab it, and immediately short a power line. \u00c2\u00a0A loud BANG and suddenly I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m on the floor, looking up at my bewildered father, wondering why he looks so worried and also how I got down there. \u00c2\u00a0I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m unharmed by the experience.<\/p>\n
He looks away for a second <\/i>and damn near loses his idiot son. \u00c2\u00a0Twice. \u00c2\u00a0Parenthood is terrifying.<\/p>\n
Five years old. \u00c2\u00a0My dad sits me down in front a computer to show me this neat game he got from a coworker. \u00c2\u00a0A clearly xeroxed manual serves as a key component of nineties copyright protection circumvention, but provides little in the way of instruction for a barely literate child. \u00c2\u00a0Once inserted into the 286, the bootlegged floppy materializes a series of images I could barely comprehend. \u00c2\u00a0He tells me the strange word I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve never seen before reads \u00e2\u20ac\u0153MechWarrior.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d \u00c2\u00a0The words are a jumble, but I see giant stompy space robots blowing things up with LASERs and I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m 100% on board.<\/p>\n
Still am.<\/p>\n
Eight years old. \u00c2\u00a0Riding down the highway with the entire family and much of our belongings in our car. \u00c2\u00a0It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s dark and my brother and I sleep for most of the 14 hour drive, which was most likely a calculated decision on my parent\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s part. \u00c2\u00a0When I wake up we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re driving down small roads surrounded by trees. \u00c2\u00a0The dirt is red. \u00c2\u00a0I know we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re not in our old home anymore. \u00c2\u00a0Because the dirt wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t red back in Pelham.<\/p>\n
Thirteen years old. \u00c2\u00a0Building my first PC, of course with a great deal of parental direction and supervision. \u00c2\u00a0After careful assembly, we hit the power button. \u00c2\u00a0The intended outcome is a series of lights, beeps, and whirring fans precluding a brief boot process that yields an operational computer. \u00c2\u00a0The actual<\/i> outcome is a quick pulse of light and a puff of smoke that yields a very much not operational computer. \u00c2\u00a0Hours of work undone in an instant. \u00c2\u00a0It could have been a devastatingly frustrating moment. \u00c2\u00a0My dad didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t even wince. \u00c2\u00a0Things happen. \u00c2\u00a0Pick up, figure out what went wrong, and move on. \u00c2\u00a0No point in losing your cool.<\/p>\n
For those wondering, it was a defective CPU.<\/p>\n
Eighteen years old. \u00c2\u00a0Leaving for college. \u00c2\u00a0He gives me a souvenir from one of his jobs, a small piece of one-inch-thick LASER-cut wood, cut in the shape of his name. \u00c2\u00a0Which, conveniently, is also my <\/i>name. \u00c2\u00a0I still have it. \u00c2\u00a0Over a decade later you can still make out the slightly charred smell coming off of it. \u00c2\u00a0It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a different kind of scent than wood burned by mundane fire. \u00c2\u00a0Organic matter obliterated by light becomes imbued with a very specific odor that I cannot describe in words, but simply know<\/i>. \u00c2\u00a0I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve heard scent is the strongest sense tied to memory. \u00c2\u00a0I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t doubt it for an instant. \u00c2\u00a0I know the scent of LASER-cut wood. \u00c2\u00a0It smells like family. \u00c2\u00a0Like home.<\/p>\n
Thirty-one years old. \u00c2\u00a0Sitting in a hospice facility patiently waiting for the end of a story. \u00c2\u00a0Waiting for the moment I wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t ready for. \u00c2\u00a0I wanted it to be different. \u00c2\u00a0I wanted more time. \u00c2\u00a0More years. \u00c2\u00a0More lessons. \u00c2\u00a0But the cancer didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t ask for my opinion.<\/p>\n
I thought the learning was over. \u00c2\u00a0But he had at least one more lesson for me.<\/p>\n
I used to think my dad was an introvert, and that I got it from him. \u00c2\u00a0He was always quiet, always reserved. \u00c2\u00a0He listened, he solved problems.<\/p>\n
I was wrong. \u00c2\u00a0He wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t an introvert at all. \u00c2\u00a0Or if he was, I have to recalibrate my understanding of the term.<\/p>\n
I called his life insurance representative to tell him to news, to start some paperwork balls rolling. \u00c2\u00a0The man was audibly shaken to hear it, and said that my dad was important to him. \u00c2\u00a0The insurance broker <\/i>is saying this. \u00c2\u00a0I got similar reactions from doctors, banking representatives, lawyers, business clients, you name it. \u00c2\u00a0I have memories of sleeping over at my parent\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s real estate agent\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s house when we had trouble finding lodgings, watching Charlotte\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Web on VHS in their living room.<\/p>\n
My dad somehow managed to always inspire a deep loyalty in, and formed a very personal bond with, everybody with whom he worked. \u00c2\u00a0I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know how. \u00c2\u00a0It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s not something an introvert would be capable of. \u00c2\u00a0It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s not something I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m <\/i>capable of. \u00c2\u00a0I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t trust people. \u00c2\u00a0I live in digital, binary world of numbers and values. True and false. On and off. \u00c2\u00a0Professionals disappoint me, and I cut them out of my life. \u00c2\u00a0I want so badly to form a network of professionals I trust, and I cannot seem to do it (or perhaps I choose not to). \u00c2\u00a0My dad did so, effortlessly and repeatedly.<\/p>\n
But trust is a double edged sword. \u00c2\u00a0My dad was frequently putting himself in difficult situations because of misplaced trust. \u00c2\u00a0Perhaps I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve just taken those lessons to heart myself. \u00c2\u00a0Perhaps this is a risk versus reward valuation that I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m performing. \u00c2\u00a0Maybe it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s easier to trust as few people as possible, depend on others only as much as is absolutely necessary, than it is to get burned. \u00c2\u00a0This seems to be my default stance, but I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m putting a lot of thought into reevaluating it.<\/p>\n
Thirty-one years old. \u00c2\u00a0Now a father myself. \u00c2\u00a0I wonder what snapshots I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll create. \u00c2\u00a0I have a pretty good model to follow.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Two years old. \u00c2\u00a0Running around in the lakehouse, I fall face first into the only non-childproof, sharp metal edge and gash my lip open. \u00c2\u00a0I have no memory of this incident. \u00c2\u00a0Only a faint scar. Four years old. \u00c2\u00a0I wander into the basement. \u00c2\u00a0My dad and his coworker and working on some sort of circuit […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-255","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/morsepower.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/255","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/morsepower.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/morsepower.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/morsepower.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/morsepower.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=255"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/morsepower.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/255\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":256,"href":"https:\/\/morsepower.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/255\/revisions\/256"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/morsepower.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=255"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/morsepower.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=255"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/morsepower.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=255"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}