Christer Medin, GPC Student

Since I work with computers for a living, I am often asked the question, “When did you get started with programming?” The answer, “at age seven,” usually provokes more questions. I usually respond with a brief story, which I would like to share here.

In 1981, computers were not exactly commonplace in Swedish households. Most people had heard of them, but few had ever laid hands on one. My father, who had always been interested in technology, was offered a programming class to support the new computerized alarm system at the hospital where he worked. He accepted it and thought it might be fun to bring me, at least to the first lesson, since I otherwise would not get a chance to see a computer for years. I was of course excited at the prospect, and my friends were insanely jealous once I told them about my upcoming adventure.

A few weeks later, we showed up for the first class. I felt a little left out as everybody else was what I at the time considered “old,” meaning over the age of twenty-five. Our teacher, a bespectacled and prim looking college student, thought it amusing to have a little kid in class, but luckily did not see any problem with it. We picked a workstation, and sat down in front of the state-of-the-art Commodore VIC-20, which looked somewhat like a white breadbox with keys and a tangle of wires coming out the back. I was already intrigued.

Now it was time to start programming. Our first task was to create a simple two-line BASIC program. I remember it well: the whole purpose of it was to repeatedly write “HELLO WORLD” on the green-hued monitor. My father let me have the keyboard, and I quickly banged in the few characters needed using the training manual for reference. After that, I typed “RUN” and there it was: the words “HELLO WORLD” over and over and over again. “Whoa, that was pretty quick,” commented the teacher. My father grinned and told everybody that I had always been a fast learner. The rest of the class was spent learning a few more programming commands and finally writing a couple of small programs from scratch. I was encouraged to help a few of our adult classmates who were having difficulties with the linear programming concept.

After the first class, there was no question of whether I should return for the rest of the semester. My father ended up sitting together with Tom, the guy next to us in class, so that I could have free reign of one glorious computer. I often wrapped up the evening’s assignments early, and spent the rest of the class writing my own little programs and learning as much as I could. Once, I wrote a little silly game that had everybody entertained for most of the class, much to our teacher’s dismay.

I fondly remember the last class we had. Our teacher told everybody that I was the best student he had seen and that I would likely end up doing programming for a living one day. My father was very proud, and I remember feeling like I had found something truly important; something very right for me. Leaving the building, we walked past a classroom full of the brand new Commodore 64 computers—with color screens!—and I recall desperately wishing my father would have to take another class so I would get a chance to play with these wonderful machines. Unfortunately that never happened, but that one programming class had already made an impression on me that would last a lifetime.

Nowadays, when I sit down at my work computer every weekday morning, I often remember those great times, twenty-four years ago, when I was first introduced to the wonders of computers—something that would shape my entire life from there on. My father, when we talk about work, sometimes asks if I remember when he took me to that programming class. I always reply, “Yes, dad, of course I do!” And he smiles, full well knowing the answer all along but always enjoying hearing it.