Growing Up with a Computer Scientist Father: A Bilingual Journey
My earliest memories are filled with the soft hum of computers and the rhythmic tapping of keyboard keys. My father, a computer scientist, often worked late into the night, his desk illuminated by the glow of multiple monitors. To me, those screens were windows into a world I didn’t fully understand—yet they shaped my childhood in ways I’m still discovering.
Mon père est un informaticien, as he’d proudly tell our French relatives during summer visits to Lyon. His career wasn’t just a job; it was a language he spoke fluently, blending logic and creativity. While other kids played catch in the park, my afternoons were spent watching him debug code or explain how algorithms could solve real-world problems. At the time, I didn’t realize how unique this upbringing was. Now, as an adult, I see how his profession influenced my worldview, education, and even my bilingual identity.
The Bridge Between Two Worlds
My father’s work was a constant lesson in problem-solving. He’d often say, « En informatique, les erreurs sont des opportunités déguisées » (“In computer science, mistakes are disguised opportunities”). This mindset spilled into everyday life. When my bike chain broke or a school project felt overwhelming, he’d guide me through troubleshooting steps rather than fixing things himself. “Break the problem into smaller parts,” he’d advise, mirroring how he approached complex coding tasks.
This analytical thinking also bridged our bilingual household. My mother, a French teacher, emphasized language as a tool for connection, while my father saw it as a system of rules—similar to programming syntax. At dinner, conversations might jump from Python functions to the subjunctive tense in French, creating a unique blend of logic and artistry.
Lessons in Curiosity and Adaptability
One of the most valuable gifts my father gave me was curiosity. Long before ChatGPT or AI became household terms, he’d explain machine learning using cookie recipes (“The computer ‘learns’ by tasting many batches!”) or compare neural networks to how our brains process language. These analogies made abstract concepts tangible.
His field also taught me about adaptability. I remember his frustration when a project he’d spent months on became obsolete due to new technology. Instead of dwelling on it, he’d say, « Les logiciels changent, mais la logique reste » (“Software changes, but logic remains”). This resilience stuck with me through academic challenges and career shifts.
Coding as a Second Language
By age 10, I’d built my first website—a clunky fan page for my favorite soccer team. My father patiently walked me through HTML, calling it “the grammar of the internet.” To him, coding wasn’t just for professionals; it was a form of literacy. This philosophy aligned with his belief that technology should empower everyone, not just experts.
Our bilingualism added an interesting layer to this. Debugging code with him often involved mixing French and English terms. We’d joke about “les bugs” in the system or debate whether “loop” sounded better than “boucle.” This playful code-switching made learning feel organic, not forced.
The Human Side of Technology
Despite his technical expertise, my father emphasized that computers are tools, not replacements for human connection. During the pandemic, when video calls became our primary way to see family in France, he taught my grandparents to use Zoom—in French and English. Watching him blend patience with technical know-how showed me that empathy matters as much as efficiency.
He also warned against tech’s darker sides. “Just because we can track data doesn’t mean we should,” he’d say during discussions about privacy. These conversations taught me to balance innovation with ethics—a lesson that’s guided my own career choices.
Legacy Beyond Lines of Code
Today, my father still works in computer science, now researching quantum computing. Though I didn’t follow his career path (I became a writer), his influence is everywhere. When I struggle to structure an article, I “debug” my outline. When learning a new language, I look for patterns like syntax rules.
Our bilingual, tech-infused upbringing also gave me unexpected advantages. Translating between French and English feels similar to interpreting technical jargon for non-experts. Both require clarity, context, and a touch of creativity.
Mon père est un informaticien—four words that shaped my life’s trajectory. His profession wasn’t just about computers; it was about cultivating a mindset. He taught me that whether you’re writing code, crafting a story, or bridging cultural gaps, the core principles remain: break problems into steps, stay curious, and never stop learning.
As technology evolves at breakneck speed, these lessons feel more vital than ever. They remind me that behind every innovation are people—fathers, mothers, mentors—who pass on not just knowledge, but ways of thinking. And in our case, a love for both informatique and la langue française that continues to connect generations.
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