Lessons from My Dad, Irving Rotman
Originally a thread on X/Twitter:
Last night I lost my dad. He was 93 and lived a full life.
I’m not a very emotional person but I am good at writing down my thoughts, so this is a small tribute to my dad and an attempt at sharing how he shaped who I am today.
Who was Irving Rotman?
My dad was a salt-of-the-earth product of the Depression. He taught high school English for 32 years in the Philadelphia public school system and to this day is still looked up to by many of his students as the best teacher they ever had.
He was the most well-read person I’ve ever known and a fountain of knowledge. He did New York Times crossword puzzles in pen and worked through advanced Sudoku puzzles every day. He loved the opera and classical music. He was an amazing artist and a talented writer.
But he wasn’t always the most pleasant person to be around. He was a grump, a curmudgeon and a critic of everyone and everything around him. He meant no harm and was a good person at heart. He was my dad.
And here are a few of the lessons I learned from him over the years.
Lesson #1: Be brutally honest
My dad didn’t believe that “anyone can be anything they want to be”. In fact, he thought encouraging people to chase bankrupt dreams was disingenuous and cruel.
His delivery left something to be desired, but I always knew what he was thinking.
For instance, I sent him a copy of a book I wrote in my “spare time” (which is a funny concept for those of you who know how much I work). He sent it back to me marked up with his teacher’s “red pen of truth”. Pages and pages of comments and suggestions.
I called him on the phone and asked what he thought of the book.
He said: “It’s pure shit. But I’m proud that you had the mental stamina to write it. That puts you a step up on all the armchair novelists. Next time, just write a better book.”
Was I upset? Not really. He was my dad and a truth teller. It might have been “his truth” and not “the only truth”. But I knew I could count on him to tell me what he thought and he knew I could take it.
Maybe someday I’ll write that “better book” as a tribute to him. Someday.
Lesson #2: Do what you think is right regardless of the personal consequences
To my dad, there were times when “right” and “wrong” were easy to differentiate. And he instilled in me that once you knew what was “right” you had an obligation to do “right”.
As a teacher, he learned that there were times when the only way to affect change was to strike. And he also learned that some teachers would cross the picket line because they cared more about their paycheck than doing what was obviously right.
But he never crossed the picket line. He never compromised his beliefs.
And there was a time that he went to jail as a result. He didn’t cave. He didn’t give in. He stood up for what he felt was right regardless of the consequences.
Another example of his fortitude took place in the 1950s when he was summoned to appear in front of the McCarthy Un-American Activities Committee.
The committee was on a witch hunt to find hidden communists in America and history knows the impact this had on regular citizens.
They wanted to question him because his parents were first generation immigrants from Eastern Europe.
My dad told them that he swore the same oath that every teacher did and that he was as American as they were. It was their problem if they didn’t believe him.
He didn’t stick around for more questions. Instead, he walked out.
Bad things could have happened to him but he didn’t care. He had nothing to run from. He wasn’t going to grovel. He was in the right and they were in the wrong.
In the end, they left him alone.
Lesson #3: Only compete with yourself
At a very early age, it became clear that my dad never cared how I did relative to anyone other than myself and my own best efforts.
To him, there was always someone out there better so it wasn’t worth climbing an infinite ladder.
I used to compete in piano competitions and he never cared whether I won or lost. He cared about best efforts.
I played poorly once and remember him saying to me: “You can’t complain about the result you didn’t get from the work you didn’t put in.”
That’s my dad in a nutshell.
Lesson #4: Always be on time. Always.
I can’t remember a time when I was growing up that I was late to anything. Ever. Not a single time.
To my dad, being on time was the result of preparation and a symbol of respect.
To my dad, if you were late you explicitly valued your time more than someone else’s. To my dad there was nothing worse you could do than waste someone’s time.
And to my dad, you only wasted his time once without a very good excuse because he didn’t give you a second chance.
Lesson #5: Build knowledge through books
When I would ask my dad a question, it was rare that he would give me a straightforward answer.
His response was some variation of: “You have encyclopedias in your room. There’s a library a few blocks away. Go figure it out yourself.”
He taught me that books had raw facts and people had biased opinions. He thought that asking people to spoon-feed you answers was lazy and filled your head with their views rather than allowing your learning journey to help you form your own perspectives.
And as a teacher he wasn’t interested in having his students parrot back what was taught in class. He designed assignments such that his students couldn’t pass without producing unique content and perspectives. Merely recycling what was discussed in class wasn’t enough.
Lesson #6: Being a good storyteller is a superpower
My dad was a grump but his ability to tell a story was legendary. It’s why his students loved him. It’s why people remembered what he taught. It’s why he was always easy to spend time with.
He taught me that good storytelling is a superpower that’s important in life.
He taught me that if you want people to pay attention to what you’re saying, you should say it in a captivating manner.
And he taught me how to be a good storyteller.
For that, I’m eternally thankful
So when I see people ignoring obvious truths or watch people complain after only kind-of-sort-of trying, I wonder if things would have been different if they grew up in my household.
A little of my dad might have made a difference.
And there’s no better way to pay tribute to my dad than to share a bit of his artwork with the world. My wife started an Instagram page for him and he was amazed when he saw his paintings on the internet.
He thought of himself as a hack. He was wrong.