The Older I Get, the More I Understand What My Father Was Fixing

He wasn’t a developer. He didn’t know code.

But watching him fix that old bike taught me more about debugging than any course ever could.

The chain never held. The tires deflated. The handlebars always leaned slightly left.
Still, he showed up with his hands, not complaints.

He never said what was wrong. He just tried, adjusted, iterated. Quietly.

Years later, I catch myself doing the same. Not just in code, but in life.

We fix things not because they always work but because we believe they should.
That belief is a kind of love. And maybe, so is persistence.

When I’m staring down a bug that won’t surface, I think of that bike.
How sometimes, trying again is the message.

He wasn’t building software.
But he was building a system of care, one that still runs silently in me.

Some of us learned syntax.
Some of us learned silence.

And for those shaped by that kind of quiet legacy, I wrote this:
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