***Editor’s Note: The “I Became An Engineer” blog runs every friday. To share your story email sarah.goncalves@advantagemedia.com***
This week’s story is brought to us by reader Robert Pangrazio.
My father is an engineer, my brother is an engineer, and my wife is an engineer. Really, my wife didn’t influence my decision, but she still is an engineer. You could say engineering is in my blood, but I believe there is more to it.
Many engineers who have had their stories posted talk about a shared interest in how things work. We engineers take things apart as children, trying to understand what makes them tick, and sometimes we even put them back together in working order. Sometimes the vacuum cleaner never recovers.
My story, however, has a devious, sinister twist to it. You could say that “you don’t choose engineering, it chooses you.” Not quite the case for me.
Early on, my father recognized that both my brother and I shared his innate gift of intelligence—and some of the arrogance that goes along with it. He conspired early on with other family members and friends to make sure that our intelligence was put to what he considered “good use.”
The first computer I learned to program was a Tandy Color Computer III—a gift to my brother from his godfather. We never questioned it, but my uncle is a fire fighter and a carpenter. It was little bit of an odd gift from him, a non-nerd. Later I found out, however, he did it because my dad told him to. Like I said: devious.
Any opportunity to nudge us towards an engineering background, my dad took. Yet somehow, each time, he made it seem like we had thought of it. He also managed to get us to think it was really “cool.”
I look back at all the things we did growing up, I and wonder how much of it was due to my father’s master plan. All the Lego sets (Civil Engineering). Model Airplanes (Aerospace Engineering). Rebuilding Cars (Mechanical Engineering). The list goes on. While we were told that we could do anything we wanted, little did we know that we may not have really had a choice in the matter.
Early on in my college career, I struggled in a basic EE class. I thought maybe it wasn’t for me. Maybe I didn’t have what it took. But my dad convinced me that it was a normal struggle, to stick it out. Everybody has that “one class” that gives them fits. Now I wonder: was that it, or was it that he didn’t want his evil machinations foiled so close to victory?
I don’t know, but I do know that I have a daughter of my own.
Let the manipulation begin.
Read other stories, here:
- A Note From The Editor: An Engineer’s Story
- I Became An Engineer: Because Of A Lunch Box
- I Became An Engineer: Because of Christmas Lights
- I Became An Engineer: Because Of The Cool Jackets
- I Became An Engineer: Because My Dad Said Not To
- I Became An Engineer: Despite Being Bad At Math
- I Became An Engineer: Because of Uncle Chet
- I Became An Engineer: Because I Can’t Stop Asking ‘Why?’
- I Became An Engineer: Because of Star Trek (Specifically Montgomery Scott)
- I Became An Engineer: Because I Was A Really Lucky Nerd
- I Became An Engineer: But ‘Nobody Knows’ Why
- I Became An Engineer: Because of Nuclear Submarines
- I Became An Engineer: Because of a Sewing Machine
- I Became an Engineer: Because No One Was Hiring Shoe Salesmen
- I Became an Engineer: Because of Mr. Kenny, the TV/Radio Repair Man
- I Became an Engineer: Because of a Book (And My Mom)
- I Became An Engineer: Because of a Cattle Ranch
- I Became An Engineer: Because of a Wise Father and the Possibility of Death
