What It’s Like to Have a Dad Who Codes

On my eighteenth birthday, I woke up to my phone ringing. Before “Hello?” could leave my lips, my dad launched into singing “Happy Birthday.” My mom was on the line, too, making attempts at harmonization. It was my first year away from home; so I hadn’t known about this corny, endearing tradition. All my birthday wishes thus far had been conducted face to face. But nowadays, I get this phone call annually—twice, in fact…