I was thinking about my Dad recently and his impact in the world. While he never built anything large, nor entertained a wide audience, after his death, for years, I would run into people whose lives he had crossed and created a meaningful connection.

One of his talents was listening, not necessarily for relational purpose, but his genuine curiosity of the world and other people’s experiences. There were several men who considered themselves to be his best friends. It wasn’t that they did much together, but that my Dad saw them and their views and perspectives as worthy of attention. People want to be seen and heard, and their experiences and perspectives validated. If you mentioned any place you had been on the planet, he would find a map from his collection and have you show him where you had been. Sometimes, he hijacked friends I brought over, drawing them into conversations about their experiences, incorporating their knowledge into his.

He had so much information of his own. In addition to his formal education, he had read our entire encyclopedia set and the dictionary. Before the advent of Google, we had our Dad. You could not only get the spelling of a word, but also it’s meaning and it’s history.

His information bank wasn’t always practical, he had an interest in obscure weights and measurements. While most people have only barely heard of cubits, he had a chart of their historical and regional variations.

The one time it paid off, was when I was preparing to travel to China. He handed me a rock and told me that it was the approximate weight of a jin, a regional unit of measurement. And you know what? It was helpful. I bought a lot of groceries from local vendors who did not use kilos or pounds but jins.

Upon reflection, it should be obvious how I came about to be an Cultural Studies professor. Other people and places were something I grew up appreciating because of my Dad. So, if you ever have to measure a temple in ancient Mesopotamia or buy vegetables in rural Asia, I got you.