Whenever I had a problem to solve, the first step was to call my father. I valued his advice, because the chances were good that he’d both tackled that particular problem before and because he’d probably have a wild story about it. He would definitely have tried an unorthodox solution and either found a hidden gem of wisdom or encountered a disaster he could thus prevent me from repeating. In either case, we’d have a great time swapping stories and I’d come away more prepared to tackle my own version of the dilemma.
Problems all seem harder, now. I’m more capable every year from my own experiences, but just knowing that font of wisdom is no longer a phone call away adds a weight to carry. I used to relish the moments where I’d found my own unorthodox solution and could call my old man to tell him about it – or better yet, grab some coffee and cigars and tell it in person. Now I like to tell those stories to my sister, my mother, my aunts or cousins; anyone who knew him well enough to give me my favorite compliment in the world: “Just like your father.”
I’m absolutely not just like him, of course. No one could be. But in those moment, though I miss him the most, I am most pleased with my performance.
The Opportunity Machine 