Lessons without answers left behind by my father

My father passed away right in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic.

Throughout his life, he experienced various illnesses, and in his later years, he often said, "My body is falling apart."

Even so, I believe he lived his life to the fullest, thinking, innovating, and trying various methods. That's how it appeared to me, his daughter, who, like his father, observed him with a somewhat critical eye.

My father lived beyond the average life expectancy, reaching an age where people around him would say, "He lived a long life."

I think my father's life, despite his frequent illnesses, sparked my own interest in medicine.

On the other hand, the education I received from my father as a child was, in retrospect, a little unusual.

I'm not even sure if it could be called education.

When I was still in elementary school, my father casually brought in a NEC PC-8001, the first personal computer of its kind at the time, into my room one day.

And then, he taught me how to use it.


Now, I remember it as perhaps the only thing I learned directly from my father.

Back then, there were no USB drives, and I used cassette tapes—the kind I used to listen to music—to save data.

I connected the computer, the cassette tape recorder, and the television (which served as a monitor) with cables. I typed programs using the keyboard.

I saved what I had created so far onto the cassette tape, and would recall and run it when needed.

If it didn't work properly, I would find the mistake, correct it, and run it again.

I continued this process alone.

Finding the cause myself and trying things out—that was my natural way of playing and learning.

Then, after my father passed away...

Around the following year, information education and programming education began to be seriously promoted in Japanese schools.

The lessons my father gave me more than 40 years ago had, over time, become important in school education.

When I learned this, I felt a strange sense of wonder. What was my father thinking when he let his elementary school-aged daughter use a computer?

Was he simply wanting me to experience a new machine? Or did he want me to develop the ability to think for myself, experiment, and solve problems?

Now, I can no longer ask him.

But if I don't get the desired result, I look for the cause.

I think of a different method and try again.

I've realized that this kind of behavior has become ingrained in me without me even realizing it.

This may be connected not only to computers, but also to my interest in medicine, my work, and my attitude towards various everyday events.

Of course, I've had many failures and had to start over.

I think the reason I didn't become too fixated on them is because I learned from experience that things don't always go well, and there are things I don't understand.

This month is the month of my father's death anniversary.

More than 40 years ago, my father casually handed me a computer.

If that experience forms the foundation of my current way of thinking, then perhaps it was a great gift my father left me. "Dad, the things you taught me back then are now important lessons I'm learning at school."

This year, I'd like to share that kind of news with you.