I often talk about how my dad and I are very much alike. How we both love numbers, books, sweet banana desserts, list-making, and ice cream. What I don’t talk about is how we are very much different.
He is an introvert, quiet and calm; I am a people-person who loves attention and who’s always excited and wants to be friends with everyone (I have been called a golden retriever multiple times and I am not insulted). He likes reading military thrillers and history books; I like cookbooks and dystopian novels. He likes – no, he loves – coffee. I do not, at all.

Except coffee ice cream, but I’ll get to that later.

Another big difference between my dad and I: when he is waiting for other people (and he waits a lot, since he is always early or on time), he is patient and even-keeled. When I’m meeting people and they are just a few minutes late, I get fidgety and anxious, and my normally cheerful demeanor darkens with impatience. My entire life is peppered with memories of my dad patiently waiting. Waiting at home, for my mom and my sisters and me to get ready. Waiting in the car, when he would pick me up from school or work or friends’ houses and parties. Waiting at the mall, while we are shopping. Waiting in front of the stove, before he flips the steak. Waiting at dentist’s and doctor’s and vet’s offices, because he’s always there for us and our many different appointments. Waiting in traffic, driving us aroun...