Priestdaddy

"“I like to think I sprang from a head; I like to think the head was mine,” writes Patricia Lockwood in Priestdaddy, her affectionate memoir of growing up with a Catholic priest for a father. But no. She sprang from the loins of Father Gregory Lockwood, who rarely wears pants, washes himself with dish soap and plays the guitar like “a whole band dying in a plane crash in the year 1972.” At its best, Priestdaddy is antic, funny and humane."

"I'd enjoyed her memoir, "Priestdaddy," and was first intrigued and then delighted."