My dad is an electrical engineer. So he was always very focused

In the words of Kristen Soltis Anderson, “My dad is an electrical engineer. So he was always very focused on, you know, teaching his daughters about, you know, science, math, technology. None of us actually became engineers for our careers, but I always had that exposure when I was young, and I just loved playing computer games.” Beneath these humble and affectionate words lies a truth as old as civilization itself — that the seeds of wisdom and curiosity, once planted in the young, may grow into forms unimagined by those who first sowed them. Her reflection speaks of inheritance not of profession, but of spirit; of the transmission of wonder and discipline from one generation to the next. It is a meditation on how the lessons of our elders — even when they do not shape our careers — shape our minds, our character, and the way we engage with the world.

The origin of this quote rests in the story of a father and his daughters, and the quiet, enduring influence of parental guidance. Anderson’s father, an electrical engineer, belonged to that noble lineage of builders and thinkers — those who seek to harness the invisible forces of nature, to turn chaos into light, and to bend the laws of energy toward human progress. Yet what he gave his daughters was not simply knowledge of circuits or equations; it was the habit of inquiry, the reverence for logic, the courage to explore. His daughters did not follow his profession, but they inherited his curiosity, his precision, his love for creation. The tools changed — the current ran not through copper wires, but through the mind — yet the spirit of learning endured.

When Anderson recalls how her father taught her science, math, and technology, we glimpse the timeless struggle and beauty of education. Every parent hopes to pass down the flame of understanding, yet that flame never burns exactly as before. The father dreams of engineers, but the daughter becomes a thinker, a communicator, a voice for her generation. And though the form differs, the essence remains the same: the mastery of logic, the joy of discovery, the belief that truth can be found through the clarity of thought. It is not the outcome that matters, but the exposure — that early encounter with knowledge which awakens the soul to its own possibilities.

The image of the young Anderson playing computer games may seem simple, yet it symbolizes something profound. For in those games she was not merely playing — she was learning the language of systems, strategy, and imagination. The engineer’s daughter found in the virtual world the same spirit her father found in the physical one: the thrill of solving puzzles, the beauty of structure, the joy of mastery. Thus, even in play, the lessons of the father lived on — proof that learning is not confined to classrooms or professions, but flows like a current through every act of curiosity.

History is filled with such echoes. Consider Sophie Germain, a young woman in eighteenth-century France who, though denied formal education, was inspired by the works of mathematicians she read in secret. Her parents, fearing her obsession, tried to dissuade her, yet the seed of curiosity once planted could not be uprooted. She went on to make discoveries in number theory and elasticity that shaped modern mathematics. Her story mirrors Anderson’s in spirit — for both reveal that when knowledge is introduced early, it becomes a living force, finding its own path, its own expression. The influence of a mentor, a parent, or a teacher may not bear fruit where expected, but it never dies.

Anderson’s words remind us that the true purpose of education is not replication, but inspiration. The father who teaches his child the principles of science does not seek to make her a mirror of himself, but to give her the tools to see the world with clarity. Whether she becomes an engineer, a poet, or a leader, she carries within her the discipline of thought and the spark of curiosity he ignited. The legacy of wisdom is not in the repetition of trade, but in the continuation of wonder.

So, my children of this modern age, take this teaching to heart: when you guide the young, do not seek to mold them in your image, but to awaken their own light. Expose them to knowledge, logic, and play, for in these, the spirit of creation takes root. And when you are the learner, cherish those early lessons — the parent who explained the stars, the teacher who taught you to question, the friend who introduced you to something new. Even if your path diverges, remember that those lessons still pulse within you, like the current that once flowed through your father’s wires.

For in the end, as Anderson’s story reveals, what we inherit is not profession, but passion; not formulas, but fire. Knowledge passed in love never fades — it transforms. The daughter of an engineer becomes a builder of ideas, the child of curiosity becomes a teacher of the world. And so, generation by generation, the sacred current of learning flows on, lighting the path ahead for all who dare to wonder.