Long before he became a father, the young husband informed his wife that all the children she would bear (they planned on eight in those days) should be taught from infancy to call him "Sire."

Five children later, he had accepted two facts: they would not be having eight children – his wife had decided that five, not eight, were enough, and those five (two boys and three girls) would always just call him "Dad,"not, ever, "Sire."

But what a dad he turned out to be – the handsome guy who married at 20 and became a father at 24, 26, 27, 29 and 32. And though his children never called him by that grandiose title of parentage he had once imagined for himself, they all received pet names from their devoted dad. They boys he dubbed the Big Duck and Rooster. The girls were Tweety (later known as Sissy Babe), Knobby Knees, and Jawdoo, the Tiny Boss.

Working a full time job and going to college full time didn't leave this dad much time to spend with his kids. But he made the most of the hours they did have together. From the time they were newborns he would scoop them up and nuzzle them. And when he could, he took his turns changing diapers and helping his wife nurse their brood through their various childhood ear aches, tummy aches and heartaches.

When they were still toddlers he played them records by Johnny Cash, Johnny Horton and Glen Campbell, and in tribute to their favorite Cash tunes, he named the first tricycles he bought for the Big Duck and Sissy the Wabash Cannonball and the Orange Blossom Special. The little pony on wheels he bought for Knobby Knees, he named "Dapple Gray," after her favorite nursery rhyme her mom would read to her.

To ward off the frosty Iowa and Illinois winds where they lived, he wore a big, green, goose down coat. Sometimes when he came in from work he would secretively hide the Tiny Boss inside his puffy jacket, then challenge the other children to find her. Tiny Boss would snuggle against her dad's chest, stiffling a giggle as she peeked over the zipper of the big green coat and watched her siblings search for her.

As the children grew, their dad took them fishing, even when they had to cut holes in ice-covered ponds in order to sink a hook. He taught the boys to hunt migrating wild ducks, sometimes in weather so frigid and fierce only ducks and duck hunters would dare brave it. Some Sundays he drove the family to his favorite church in the tiny town of Oquawka, Illinois. After listening to a sermon by the Right Rev. Noblett, they had lunch (the children's favorite part of the trip) at the Oquawka diner the dad nick-named The Greasy Spoon – the name by which the family will forever remember it.

To keep the children from having to grow up in the big city where he worked, he found the family a home in the country and never complained about making the two-hour drive each day. In their formative years the children were raised in a farmhouse surrounded by apple trees, with a quiet little creek to explore nearby and a bunch of chickens, goats, rabbits, dogs and ponies to keep them occupied.

Working night shifts kept the dad from attending many of his children's school plays and ball games with his wife. But he always managed to make it to their most important events, and to be there for them just when they needed him most. While his wife handled the day to day instructions and discipline of the children (she was never one to say, "Wait till your father gets home!"), a stern word or look from their father always inspired his brood to better behavior. And if they ever caused the frown that made his eyebrows come together, they instantly regretted their trespasses.

From an early age the boys and girls were given indoor and outdoor chores and duties. Those responsibilities ingrained in them an old fashioned work ethic that has served them well as adults. But it wasn't all work and no play at their house. Their dad taught them to do a lot of fun things – like whistle through their teeth (well, only Knobby Knees really mastered that) and blow a duck call (and the Rooster was the one who got the hang of that.)

Sometimes the dad would just come up with silly things to amuse his youngsters – like tape a dollar bill to a wall to see who could jump high enough to claim it. Or offer a 1, 5, 10 or 20-dollar bill to the first kid who could name the person whose face was on the bill – a short-lived diversion that quickly became too expensive to continue.

The five are all grown now, and some have children of their own. But they still just call him Dad, and the grandchildren call him, "Pa." So, it looks as if none of his offspring will never refer to him by the kingly-sounding "Sire," which Webster defines as "a title of respect" for "a person of authority; man of high rank." But maybe actions speak louder than words, as they continue to accord their dad with the respect that illusive title implies. Each of his children still highly value his advice and praise. And they all try hard to avoid his disfavor – which is still signified by "the look" that brings his eyebrows together.

On behalf of Schenk, Sunday, Laurie, Lanci, and Morgan, Linda Seubold wishes their sire (and her husband), Nils Frank Seubold, a very happy Father's Day.

 

Linda Seubold, editor of Entertainment Fort Smith Magazine, can be reached at lindaseubold@efortsmith.com. Read her archived columns and articles online.

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