Some of my earliest memories are sitting on my father’s lap in our den, his long legs beneath me and his warm arms wrapped around me. A record was probably playing in the background. He had a giant desk made from an old office door stacked on two filing cabinets. It practically filled the room and in the center of it was his Macintosh. I remember his passion for that Apple computer, the revolutionary box in our den. My dad always seemed like the Beatles song, “You say you want a revolution, woah oh” type, the kind to gravitate to something daring to break all boundaries. The soundtrack of my childhood was Bob Dylan and Simon and Garfunkel in my father’s voice, and Apple represented everything about times that were a changin’.
I have always been a Mac. It was the first computer I ever knew and the first computer I ever owned for myself. It was the computer that I spent hours on playing Load Runner, writing my first paper, downloading my first song, buying my first app.
I never listened to his speeches or watched his turtle neck wearing presentations. I never needed to. I didn’t need a speech to know that he was always delivering a product I knew I could count on, a company that I could call crying in the middle of the night, a bar of nerdy geniuses that would cater to my every technological need. Steve Jobs was revolutionary, a visionary, a man who left a mark on this world and on my life. For his contribution to the world, for his revolution, and for my childhood memories on my fathers lap, I am truly grateful.