Before I turned 7, my father gave me a camera and taught me how to use it, and he taught me how to work in a wet darkroom, with Dektol and Plus-X and Kodak RC paper. He also gave me some advice about how to compose a picture, primarily to think about what I would NOT want in it, i.e. other photographers, billboards, diesel locomotives, and the like. In recent years, though, I have realized the value of capturing the NOW, including all of those modern intrusions.
Mostly, though, my father taught me how to see by teaching me how to BE. By that I mean he encouraged, and embodied, an endless curiosity about the world and a need to explain it. He can talk to anyone, anywhere, and I count this as just about my most valued inheritance from him; aside from greasing the wheels of human interaction, it also leads to access: Ask me about the strip mine in Hazleton and the dragline shovel whose cab he and I got invited to visit one day as the operator moved house-sized scoops of rock around.