Two months ago, my dear dad passed away. He was 90. In the summer, he got an offer to play the leading role in a movie—he was an actor—and despite all the fears of contracting COVID-19, he said yes. A few months later, when he got home from the set, he tested positive. And that was it—camera, action, and the end. He was always ready for a challenge, to try new things, to go into the unknown... which is precisely what he did. He went into the unknown. 

I was not able to go to the funeral. Even my mother was not there. She also tested positive for COVID-19 and was ordered not to leave the apartment. Luckily, she managed to recover. For some reason, after his passing, I could not write anything, hence my absence from the Ibbaka Talent Blog. I started to ask myself why I couldn't write. I think I found the answer. The majority of my writing connects with the past, being a place, a person or a book that I read. This connection or a neural pathway almost inevitable will take me back to a time when we sat together with my dad. Some may say that we were not that close, and yet I think we were very close. So here is a little tribute to all the things he taught me. I hope the experience of writing this post, on the eve of 2020 Winter Solstice, will unblock me because I have to admit, I miss writing, even though I am still a beginner. Respect for writing, for putting the words in the right order, I learned from my him. He left behind a massive pile of poems, stories, screenplays, scripts and memories. He was working on an autobiography, which he referred to as My notations on the margins of time, and I know I will have to make sure it gets published.

The earliest memories of my dad and me had to do with either cars or fishing. I genuinely hated the fishing trips. I mean the actual fishing part. The getting up early and driving with the rising sun behind our backs was great. The fishing gear was a combination of self-made rods, some very old pieces which belonged to my grandfather, and the rest - well, the rest was not very reliable. My dad was a very resourceful man and was always able to repair a broken reel. I learned how to make those small knots, take apart little elements and put them back without losing anything. Nevertheless, getting the hook out of the fish was not enjoyable.

The same applied to fixing cars. When we got the first car in the 70s, the only option when it broke down (very often) was to fix it yourself. Not because there was a lack of auto-shops - on the contrary, there were plenty. However, you never knew if the broken part was actually broken or how many "other parts" will magically disappear from under the hood. My dad often joked that he was the best mechanic among the actors (and the best chef, he joked about that too). I believe the ability to fix things, find solutions, and be creative in problem-solving is essential to almost anything. The more skills you have, the better. Perhaps that is why Ibbaka Talent is so attractive to me.

One adventure after another. What a wonderful life when you get to travel in time. Ride a heavily armed horse with a sword in your hand, shoot machine guns in a war movie or print fake money. I remember those counterfeit 500zl notes with a subtle print The Property of Polish Film laying around in the house. After the war, his father and my grandfather tried to convince him that engineering is a solid profession, and after pulling a few strings, my dad was invited to the Gdańsk Polytechnic to have a math exam. He told me this story several times, and now I am telling it to my son. When he entered a large lecture hall, the examining commission was sitting in the front row, and there was an equation waiting for him on one of two massive blackboards. He went right into solving it. After using both blackboards to write his solution, he was glowing with pride. The result of this complex calculation was zero - a thing of beauty. It had to be the right answer. After all, zero sounded perfectly. When he turned towards the commission, he saw that they were barely able to sit straight. The head of the commission came to my dad, shake his hand and said. "Listen, young man. I haven't seen anything like that in my entire career. You are a very, very funny person, but math is not for you. Why don't you try acting." So he did. Apart from the anecdotal component, it shows clearly that whatever you do, you need to give a 100% no matter how bad are the odds. 

When my dad was considered for a role in The Pharaoh, a 1966 production directed by Jerzy Kawalerowicz based on a novel by Boleslaw Prus, the casting director asked my dad: "Chariots, you ride chariots, right?". My dad replied: "Exclusively!" He got the part, and now students in many film schools are studying the opening sequence—my dad is the first character to appear— which is considered one of the best in movie history. Take a look.

Last week I found an article published by Frog Design: Trends 2021: Three Scenes from the Future. I shared this article with everyone at Ibbaka. Here is a quote from the second story:

"Imagine a neural 'skill chip' that can directly interface with the brain, turning anyone into an expert on any topic. These chips could help us facilitate creative thinking if we 'teach' them in different methodologies and styles."

Simone Serasini, Organization Designer and Facilitator, frog Madrid

Although this is quite futuristic, frankly, even the idea scares the hell out of me. Skills are not just skills. It depends where you learned it, how you learned it, who was your teacher or mentor, what was the context, what other skills you learned along. Did you do it alone or in a group—every little aspect matters, like what I learned from my dad. It wasn't just how to change brake pads. It was about accountability, attention to detail, responsibility and more. Brakes are quite important, aren't they? That is why at Ibbaka Talent we put so much emphasis on the relationship between people and skills. Implanting a chip is not a solution. Providing learning resources, supporting training and visualizing a career path is.

Last week I got a message from my cousin that the tombstone I designed is now placed on my dad's grave. It reads, Do widzenia, do jutra... (See you tomorrow…).

I'll see you tomorrow, dad. I know you will wait for me.