Before AI models were teaching us how to cook, love, and live, it was my dad who taught me the kind of wisdom that doesn’t come from data.
My dad isn’t a tech bro. But he is our family’s original tech enthusiast. Long before smartphones and predictive algorithms, he brought home our very first XT PC, a clunky, beige box that hummed like a tiny spaceship in our living room. He bought it from the newly opened Abenson along Zapote Road back in the ’80s, a time when computers still felt like future relics. It didn’t do much by today’s standards, but to us, it was magic. I still remember playing Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? on that thing, squinting at the pixelated screen while flipping through our Collier’s Encyclopedia (or sometimes the Britannica).
He fiddled with C programming “just to try it,” not because it was going to make him rich, and definitely not because an online course told him it was trending. He explored because he was curious. And that curiosity? It was contagious. He never pushed it on me. He just showed me that learning for the sake of it was cool. I didn’t realize until much later that this was a form of parenting: gentle, quiet modeling, not a push notification.
One of the first life lessons he ever taught me wasn’t about tech, though. It was: “Honey can catch more flies.” I didn’t get it at the time, of course. I thought, “Why would I want to catch flies?” But years later, when dealing with difficult people, navigating deadlines, or trying to de-escalate a fiery comment section, I understood what he meant. Kindness isn’t weakness. It’s strategy. It’s social intelligence, the kind no machine truly grasps.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about how so many people now turn to algorithms for answers. And I say this with full self-awareness, I’m guilty of it, too. I have ChatGPT on standby most days, and yes, I even named mine. We ask chatbots for dating advice, parenting hacks, even moral guidance. And while I obviously appreciate what tech can do (hi, I write about it for a living), I also know that the best life lessons I’ve ever gotten came from someone who had no algorithm. Just instinct, lived experience, and love.
AI might optimize your life, but it won’t teach you how to live it.
It won’t notice the sigh you make when you’re tired. It won’t teach you patience by example. It won’t remind you to stay soft in a hard world. My dad did all of that, not with a user manual, but with small moments that stuck: quiet breakfasts while he read the newspaper, morning car rides to school with classical music playing (which I now realize was his sneaky way of training my brain), or a quiet phrase you only come to understand years later.
That’s not to say tech has no place in how we learn and grow. In fact, it can amplify access to knowledge and connect people to mentors they wouldn’t otherwise meet. But human mentorship, especially from a father figure, offers something AI can’t replicate: emotional context, personal stakes, and unspoken understanding built over time.
This Father’s Day, I’m reminded that the most influential “programming” in my life wasn’t code. It was character.
And no matter how advanced AI gets, I hope we never forget the value of human mentorship. The kind you can’t train on a dataset.
For those who feel uneasy about how fast AI is evolving, let this be a quiet reminder: humanity isn’t replaceable. The things that make our relationships meaningful, the care, intuition, and lived connection, still belong to us. And no machine can code that.
And if you’re lucky enough to still have your dad around, don’t wait for nostalgia to kick in. Tell him you remember the little things. Say thank you. Let him know he still matters even in a world that’s gone digital. Because for all the lines of code and algorithmic shortcuts, some lessons only come from someone who’s known you since the beginning.
