their earning potential is down. Also, they get Father’s Day, which is kind of a second-rate holiday promoted mostly by the Father’s Day Council, an association of menswear retailers who declared in the 1980s that Father’s Day “has become a ‘Second Christmas’ for all the men’s gift-oriented industries.” Of course, Mother’s Day is similarly commercial. But the holiday will always have that illustrious peace origin story, with Julia Ward Howe’s Peace Proclamation, where she calls for a “general congress of women” to peacefully settle international disputes.
Growing up, we always asked our dad what he wanted for Father’s Day. We’d get a raised eyebrow and a look that read something like: “What I want more than anything for Father’s Day are children who know better than to ask me what I want for Father’s Day.” What do you buy a man so ascetic that he reuses dental floss? One year, we got Phil Berrigan—priest, peace activist, hardcore nonviolent resister—a tie.
Patrick is not quite as ascetic as my dad, but he definitely doesn’t want a new tie. Patrick is that one person who can take the baby when he is red in the face with tears streaming down his cheeks, catching his breath for a new round of screaming. Patrick walks out of the house and down the block, returning ten, twenty, even forty minutes later with a sleeping angel on his shoulder.
He was once a social worker who helped dads resolve disputes with their children’s mothers; he aided these dads in developing life skills, becoming responsible parents, and navigating the court and social services bureaucracies. Now he is a home visitor, working with expectant and new dads, teaching them how to nurture. He teaches “Dr. Dad” and “Daddy Bootcamp” classes at a local hospital for expectant fathers; he coaches them on basics like how to hold a newborn, how to change a diaper, how to soothe a crying child, how to take a baby’s temperature, and how to support mom through the early weeks. Patrick loves these classes. He helps turn apprehension and jitters into excitement and confidence.
He brings all this knowledge, excitement, and confidence home too. He is lightning-fast at changing Seamus’s diaper, even though the little bruiser thrashes and screams and grabs at your hands the whole time. Sometimes it takes me fifteen minutes to change the boy’s diaper. But with Patrick, Seamus starts out belligerent and then he gets distracted by his dad’s elastic face and amazing noises. Pretty soon they are both giggling and Seamus is clean and dry. Patrick plays and soothes and cooks and instructs and tidies and sweeps and tickles.
At eighteen years old, Patrick refused to register for Selective Service, foregoing federal grants and loans for college. Luckily, Earlham, a Quaker College in Indiana, offered special grant and loan programs to conscientious non-registrants, so he was able to get a bachelor’s degree and travel to Northern Ireland to work in conflict resolution. I think it was there, on the old sod, that Patrick developed his gift for gab. The man can literally talk to anyone about anything without compromising his values or letting anyone slide. I have seen him call people out—even his closest friends—for being racist, sexist, homophobic, or just jerks. And he somehow manages to do it without malice or contempt. The people around him respond by becoming more compassionate, considerate, and open-minded.
Whether it is describing radio waves or the life cycle of the cicada, recounting the story of where honey comes from or how clouds are formed, or explaining why some dogs aren’t nice or how princesses benefit from slavery and exploitation, Patrick is constantly in dialogue with our kids about how the world works, how it should work, and how it will soon work better when they apply their energy, enthusiasm, and good ideas to it.
Patrick is a great father and a great partner. Together, we are always learning from
Growing up, we always asked our dad what he wanted for Father’s Day. We’d get a raised eyebrow and a look that read something like: “What I want more than anything for Father’s Day are children who know better than to ask me what I want for Father’s Day.” What do you buy a man so ascetic that he reuses dental floss? One year, we got Phil Berrigan—priest, peace activist, hardcore nonviolent resister—a tie.
Patrick is not quite as ascetic as my dad, but he definitely doesn’t want a new tie. Patrick is that one person who can take the baby when he is red in the face with tears streaming down his cheeks, catching his breath for a new round of screaming. Patrick walks out of the house and down the block, returning ten, twenty, even forty minutes later with a sleeping angel on his shoulder.
He was once a social worker who helped dads resolve disputes with their children’s mothers; he aided these dads in developing life skills, becoming responsible parents, and navigating the court and social services bureaucracies. Now he is a home visitor, working with expectant and new dads, teaching them how to nurture. He teaches “Dr. Dad” and “Daddy Bootcamp” classes at a local hospital for expectant fathers; he coaches them on basics like how to hold a newborn, how to change a diaper, how to soothe a crying child, how to take a baby’s temperature, and how to support mom through the early weeks. Patrick loves these classes. He helps turn apprehension and jitters into excitement and confidence.
He brings all this knowledge, excitement, and confidence home too. He is lightning-fast at changing Seamus’s diaper, even though the little bruiser thrashes and screams and grabs at your hands the whole time. Sometimes it takes me fifteen minutes to change the boy’s diaper. But with Patrick, Seamus starts out belligerent and then he gets distracted by his dad’s elastic face and amazing noises. Pretty soon they are both giggling and Seamus is clean and dry. Patrick plays and soothes and cooks and instructs and tidies and sweeps and tickles.
At eighteen years old, Patrick refused to register for Selective Service, foregoing federal grants and loans for college. Luckily, Earlham, a Quaker College in Indiana, offered special grant and loan programs to conscientious non-registrants, so he was able to get a bachelor’s degree and travel to Northern Ireland to work in conflict resolution. I think it was there, on the old sod, that Patrick developed his gift for gab. The man can literally talk to anyone about anything without compromising his values or letting anyone slide. I have seen him call people out—even his closest friends—for being racist, sexist, homophobic, or just jerks. And he somehow manages to do it without malice or contempt. The people around him respond by becoming more compassionate, considerate, and open-minded.
Whether it is describing radio waves or the life cycle of the cicada, recounting the story of where honey comes from or how clouds are formed, or explaining why some dogs aren’t nice or how princesses benefit from slavery and exploitation, Patrick is constantly in dialogue with our kids about how the world works, how it should work, and how it will soon work better when they apply their energy, enthusiasm, and good ideas to it.
Patrick is a great father and a great partner. Together, we are always learning from
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