9teen

Today marks the 19-year mark of my Dad’s passing. At 51 years-old, he seemed to have died all too soon on account of late-stage colon cancer.

I would imagine that most Dad’s want to leave behind a better world and livelihood for their children than the one they lived. In my case, my Dad was successful in that mission; giving me the tools, knowhow, time and love required to form me into the man that I am today, as well as Dad to Atlas.

The one thing I loved about my Dad was that he always seemed to have the answer when it came to all things technology. He was a mastermind when it came to the computer, and truly seemed to have a mind that was suited for his occupation as an IT consultant. He always seemed light years ahead of the rest of the pack, because he was constantly immersing himself in studying the latest trends, methods and software in the industry.

In many ways, I’ve become a lot like my Dad. At a book release party last night, I shook hands with several people who lit up when they heard my name – “So YOU’RE the AI guy!” they said. Or, “I was in one of the classes you taught!” before excitidly sharing how the knowledge helps them on a daily basis now.

My Dad wasn’t the type of person to schmooze at fancy mixers like the one I attended last night. Truth be told, I’m not either, but I recognized that showing up was an important step for me in the line of work that I’m in – especially given the room was full of existing clients I now work with.

One of the greatest gifts a Dad can give his son are the tools required for him to be successful in his life. In this case, my Dad equipped me very well and I felt strongly equipped to venture into ‘schmooze mode’ armed with knowledge about a skillset that many in the room wanted to discuss.

There are so many instances where I wish my Dad could see my life; from the ways I’m leveraging technology to radically free my schedule, to the moments where I play and wrestle with Atlas, just as he once played and wrestled with me.

This morning, I sat down with Atlas in my home office and told him something that made him light up:

“Atlas, we’re going to build you a game.”

As he sat on my lap, I showed him how to create characters, icons and ‘sprite images’ which are the different poses used to animate characters in video games. As he sat on my lap, his games began to materialize on the screen.

“Atlas, this is called a V1 – which means ‘version one'” I explained to him as I opened up the first game in the browser window. As he played it, we noticed a few errors and went back to the drawing board to correct them, using Claude.

“Now it’s time for V2” I said, as I opened up a new window, toggling back and forth to show him the improvements made from V1.

In less than 20 minutes, he and I created three fully-functional arcade-style games that teach him how to spell, type and care for his pets – tamagotchi-style.

“Atlas, you’re the only boy I know who has a Dad that made him his own video games.” I said. “Ok, I forgot about Sam Flynn.”

That little episode we had together is something my Dad would have loved to have done with me, and I know that somewhere in Heaven, he’s looking down on the two of us with a big smile on his face.

“Aaron, use the right tool for the job.”

In the 19 years he’s been gone, each passing year has been a new reminder of just how many tools my Dad gave me. Each ‘tool’ has been put to good use and I now have a life that’s reflective of each and every one of them being put to work, and the greatest beneficiary is Atlas, who is asleep next to me as I write this – and as Claude is putting the final polish on his games.

Dad,

What a world we live in now. I wish that I could show you our lives for just one day. I wish I could meet with you at Panera for one more coffee and bear claw. I wish you could meet Atlas. There are so many things I wish you could see that Atlas and I experience because of the way you taught me how to live.

Someday, I know that I’ll see you again. Until then, I hope you know that I’m in God’s hands and treat every moment as if it were my last.

I love you.

See you soon, Superman.

Aaron