Live in a World of Possibility

My first ever impression of a computer was of the mainframe at the Gates Rubber Company. That room was like a meatlocker. It was an odd place with reel to reel data tape machines whirring and spinning up on a raised floor almost like they were pulling up the legs of their pants so as not to get them wet. At that time, that room represented one thing: progress. Through the eyes of a young me, that place seemed magical. To the best of my knowledge, my dad worked as a data analyst for Gates back then. Promoted up from a factory floor supervisor. Gates would make these black rubber balls emblazoned with their company logo that they would give out to kids. One of those balls is probably still banging away someplace in the detritus accumulated over a life.

Before he worked for Gates, my old man, the original yuppie optimist, co-owned a Schwinn bicycle store. I imagine that he saw the ways in which he was being impactful in other people’s lives. Many a kid probably learned how to ride a bike purchased at his store. How many rims got un-bent in his store? How many brakes replaced or adjusted? I can picture him helpfully answering customers’ questions to help guide their purchases.

When he found out I was to be born, he sold his share in the bike shop in favor of a more stable income.

My mom and dad split when I was young. My first vivid memory is of the storm door banging shut behind him for the last time. As a result, my dad got to be the fun weekend dad. It wasn’t fair to my mom, but it was the eighties and he was involved in my life. They split custody. Every other weekend and one day a week were his. He went to parent teacher conferences, made it out to sporting events, and took me to visit his folks. He was a damn sight better than a lot of the dads I’ve had the displeasure of knowing over the years, and he loved my sister and I.

One time, I must have been about five, my mom needed to go away for awhile. A week I think. I couldn’t have been much more than about five or six. He stayed with my sister and I at our house. He had bought me a bike and by the time my mom got back, I was riding it with no training wheels.

Also around the time I would have been about five, he bought us an IBM PC JR. I still remember playing Crossfire on that thing. I think it was the following year I got an NES for Christmas. The first on my block.

Every good dad is a hero in his son’s eyes, and they all fall back to earth eventually. Mine just didn’t get to live long enough for that to happen. I lost my best friend and my father all at once at the age of eight. If he’d lived longer, he might have made one heck of a futurist.

He absolutely seethed this idea: live in a world of possibility. I’m not even sure he knew he did it. Sometimes it is like he’s somewhere unseen and almost out of earshot whispering, “You can do it Robby.”

The movies that I remember watching with him: Dune and Tron. To me, he was both Paul Atreides and Kevin Flynn. He also looked a lot like Gene Wilder. My dad could also sing, so whenever I hear Pure Imagination, I get a little bit of my dad back for just a moment.

It’s because of him that I see possibility all around me. I only hope to touch the lives of others the way he touched mine.

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I'm a software developer with 15+ years experience in everything from web, to microservices, to mobile, to mainframe, to PLCs.

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