Thirty years ago today, our son, Patrick Michael, was born. I have been known to be extremely vocal in support of our children, so perhaps (but only perhaps) this is yet another instance of boasting but I think I'm representing my row of home fries from Dad School when I ask, with just the right note of studied casualness, 'just me or did you notice how the world has steadily improved since that date?' He is one of my favorite and favored topics.
I've done three things I brag about since my arrival on this orb: marry Sigrid and be the father of our two children (the latter was the easier of the two since I mostly just showed up as Sigrid did all the heavy lifting).
I can tell you stories, and have.
Should I tell you the story of our visit to the first Toys R Us in Germany, just outside of Frankfurt, in Wallau, and how Patrick walked past me with a toy in his hand to ask Sigrid if he could have it. She said yes and as I put both him and the toy in the cart, I said 'you could've asked me too, y'know.' "Yeah," he said, "except she's the one who makes all the decisions."
I very much enjoy being a father-ridiculously so especially in comparison to how well I don't do it. And it helps to have a first born son who is as talented and easy going as Patrick. If he had his way, this is the picture he'd want me to use for today.
But he doesn't get everything he wants when he wants, so this is the picture I always associate with him.
He should be grateful I don't still sing "I've Been Working on the Railroad" and the fact that I've forgotten most of the words would most definitely not stop me. Then or now. Some could suggest at 30 (!) he might be starting to get a little long in the tooth, but I think we'll keep him anyway.Of course, as he knows far better than I, that's not my decision. Happy Birthday!