I often get asked what is the first thing that comes to mind when I think of my father. I’d have to say it would be an image of him cooking up a storm (a delicious one) in our adorable little kitchen, sending to die for aromas floating across the house. Until this day, the room that my dad spends the majority of his time in is his kitchen. As I’m leaving for school or work, he’s in the kitchen. When I come home, he’s in the kitchen. When I’m heading to bed, he’s somehow still in the kitchen. Although he complains about cooking for my mother and I from time to time, he often reminds me that he wouldn’t want it any other way. And because of his time spent in the kitchen, I have gotten to bond with him through the activities he enjoys the most.