Yesterday would have been the 60th birthday of Apple co-founder Steve Jobs, had he not died of pancreatic cancer in October 2011. My father died of a heart attack the same year, one month earlier. He was eight years older than Jobs.
It’s hard to believe Jobs has been gone so long, especially since his creations are still very much alive in our world.
My dad was an Apple man. I was (and still am) a Windows daughter by marriage.
Apples and oranges, Dad and me.
Dad bought a first-generation iPad. He took it to the coffee shop on the corner and connected it to the world (old friends, family, me). He didn’t need a cell phone until the iPhone came out, and then he had to have it.
Resistance to Jobs was futile for him, and my teenage daughters, and most likely, you.
Dad was in awe that he lived long enough to hold a computer in his hands. That was an inconceivable notion on the remote northern Michigan farm where he was raised. For most of his childhood he did not even have a television. He was 13 before an indoor bathroom was installed in the house.
May we all be in awe.
May we not take our lives for granted.