I wish my dad was around to see “The Odyssey.” He passed a little over a year ago, and my brother and I both miss him terribly. An immigrant from Greece, he oozed pride in our heritage and would tell the entire family how we were descended from Alexander the Great.

In the final years of his life, he would go on and on about his cherished copy of “The Odyssey.” For years he told me, “Aristides, I have a copy of ‘The Odyssey’ in both languages, right across from each other!” He was so excited about this book that on a visit to Atlanta, I finally asked to see this marvel of poetic literature.

He brought it out with reverence, presenting his jewel to me with both hands. I was so excited to see the original Greek alongside the English translation. Cracking the book open, on the left side was Greek … and on the right, Greek.

I looked at my dad, puzzled. “I thought you said it was in both languages?”

“Yes, yes!” He beamed. “Ancient Greek and modern Greek!”

I saw why he was excited because learning ancient Greek was mandatory when he went to school in Greece. My ability to read modern Greek is at a third-grade level at best, and no way am I reading ancient Greek written with no spaces between words or punctuation.

Honestly, I don’t know how Dad would respond to Christopher Nolan’s telling of “The Odyssey.” He was a stickler for authenticity. I’m not talking about those of us in the diaspora complaining about no Greeks in the cast, the missing beauty of Calypso’s garden, the absent grand feasts, or how Nolan’s characters did not live among the gods.

I do think he would like that Nolan focused on something my dad practiced his entire life. Nolan called it “Zeus’s Law.” The ancients called it Ξενία (Xenia), welcoming any stranger as if they might be a god in disguise. Modern Greeks call it Φιλοξενία (Philoxenia), which roughly translates to “love of strangers.”

Back in the Bronze Age, this wasn’t just etiquette. It was a critical to one’s survival. Traveling great distances on foot or by sea, being able to rely on a stranger for shelter, food, and water was literally life-saving.

Any time my dad came across a Greek immigrant, he would invite them over for dinner. In some cases, he offered them room and board. There were many characters. My favorite was Niko.

Niko is from Corfu, where he was known as “Nick the Greek.” He ran a charter service in the summer, taking tourists on day cruises aboard a boat he built with his own hands. There was music, homemade wine, and swimming in sea caves. Toward the end of the trip, he would charm all the ladies on board into taking off their tops so he could hoist them up the mast.

Nick spent his winters in Atlanta playing Greek music and taking odd jobs. He was tall, handsome, wrote poetry, played guitar, sang beautifully, and was an absolute chick magnet. Nick taught me how to play drums, overdub harmonies, frame a house, and — most importantly — how to talk to girls.

To this day he returns to the home he built in the middle of his family’s centuries-old olive grove each summer. Surrounding the home are plants grown from cuttings of his favorite American plants: avocados, peaches, plums, and gardenias. He still makes his own wine, aging it in the basement to serve alongside fresh fish bought from his friend at the docks every morning and grilled over open wood.

To say my life is richer for having spent those winters with Niko, and now visiting him in Corfu, is an understatement. None of that would have happened without the deep-rooted practice of Philoxenia passed down by our ancestors.

It’s a spirit that has a way of taking root in the people around us, too. My wife, Ember, isn’t Greek, but here in Park City she insists on opening our home to strangers with that very same open-armed warmth. When my dad met her, he took one look at her and said, “She is one of us.” Maybe he saw that welcoming spirit in her right away, recognizing that Philoxenia isn’t about being Greek, but how you treat people.

Christopher Nolan claims Zeus’s law died with the ancient world. But he never met my dad, and he certainly hasn’t been to our home. That sacred duty didn’t vanish. It was sanctified by our Orthodox faith and lives on in everyone who opens their heart to a stranger.

Ari Ioannides, chair of the Summit County Republicans, is a recovering tech entrepreneur, founder of BootUP PD, and serves on local government and nonprofit boards. He offers a conservative perspective on local politics. He can be reached at [email protected]