A Eulogy For Thomas O. Seabolt

On behalf of my Mom. My sister Marcella and her family. Me and my family. My aunt Gini and my Dad’s other siblings. Thank you for being here to honor my Dad and to comfort my family.

Children are in part a reflection of their parents. And in part a response to their parents. I am a reflection of and a response to my Dad.

Dad Always Carried A Pocketknife

I am a reflection of my Dad.

My Dad always carried a pocketknife. The holidays were the high season for pocketknives. My Dad was always ready for a well-taped package so he could offer his pocketknife. When he did, he would invariably explain that a dull knife is more dangerous than a sharp knife. The reasoning being that with a dull knife, you have to really bare down on it to cut. When you do, the chances of you slipping and cutting yourself increase. Marcella and I would glance at each other with a grin. We had heard it 100 times.

When I was growing up, a pocketknife was a rite of passage for a young boy. My Dad gave me a Kamp King pocketknife when I was eight years old. My Mom bought most of the gifts in our family. But the Kamp King was a gift from my Dad.

Now I’m not a terribly sentimental person. And as an adult, I don’t carry a pocketknife. But my Kamp King came with me to college. It came with me to law school. It came with me to my first job and has followed me throughout my career. In fact, for the last 29 years, it has sat prominently in the top drawer of my desk. It is in my pocket today.

It is covered in patina and character, a testament to 46 years of loyal companionship. I don’t use it much anymore. It is a memento more than a tool. A reminder of my Dad. A reminder of where I came from. A reminder of how much a simple gesture can mean between a Dad and his son.

Dad Loved Coaching

I am a reflection of my Dad.

My Dad was my first coach. He played catch, threw batting practice, and kicked a soccer ball with me. He coached my soccer team for several years. My Dad also coached Marcella’s softball and soccer teams. Dads in the 1970’s didn’t know much about soccer, but it was all the rage with us kids. My Dad dutifully studied soccer. He read books. He attended coaching clinics. My Dad even befriended and recruited a couple of Scottish fellas to help train us. He came to practice with new drills and new ideas. We formed a whole soccer community and created lifelong friendships at the soccer fields at 12 Mile and Drake. It was great fun.

Fast forward 40 years. I have coached all three of my kids in sports. Soccer, softball, baseball. I made a spectacle of myself doing the Daddy-Daughter dance at my daughters’ recitals. It wasn’t just the practices, rehearsals, and games, though. It was the rides to and from. The long trips for tournaments and competitions. The adventures along the way. We made great memories. None of this happens without the example set by my Dad.

The Image Of Dad With Tears In His Eyes Stuck With Me

I am a response to my Dad.

We didn’t have a lot of money growing up. But we always had a roof over our heads, food on the table, clean clothes, and a warm bed to sleep in. It turns out that I was a pretty good soccer player. I made my first travel soccer team when I was ten years old. I trained with my new team for a couple weeks leading up to the first game.

On the morning of the first game, my Dad woke me up early. He was sitting on the edge of my bed with tears in his eyes. We couldn’t afford it, he told me. He had tried, but he just couldn’t make the numbers work. My Dad was devastated. He apologized to me choking back tears. I choked back my own tears and told him it was ok. In that moment, I was more worried about my Dad than I was about travel soccer. Parents sometimes think their kids don’t know, but they know. I knew.

The story ended well enough. A short while later, my Dad’s best friend caught wind of it and wouldn’t have it. He gave my Dad the money so I could play travel soccer. My Dad was a very proud man. This was perhaps the only person on earth from whom my Dad would accept this kind of help. But that image of my Dad sitting on the edge of my bed with tears in his eyes stuck with me. I remember it vividly.

My Dad did nothing wrong, mind you. He was a tireless worker who provided for his family the best he knew how. He still managed to provide us with opportunities that he didn’t have. Which is what we all try to do for our children. His dad had never watched him play sports growing up. My Dad didn’t miss a game.

When I offer my children an opportunity that I didn’t have, it is not a critique of the man. It is a tribute to him. I get it, Dad. I paid attention. I will try to do better.

Dad Thought Log Cabins Were A Sign You Had Arrived

I am a reflection of my Dad.

Since I was a young boy, my Dad always spoke in glowing terms about log cabins. The look of knotty pine, the warm feel, the up north scent. In my Dad’s eyes, a log cabin was one of the ultimate signs that you had arrived. When I graduated from law school in 1996, my parents rented a log cabin in upstate New York. My Dad was in awe of it. He walked me through every inch of every detail in that log cabin.

Fast forward to 2009. Janis and I bought a vacation home on the west side of the state. It sits on about ten acres of woods. You can’t see it from the main road. It has a two-track dirt driveway that meanders through the woods for about 200 yards until it happens upon the home. And yes, it is a log cabin.

Most every year, my parents would ask to visit the cabin once or twice. Of course, we always said yes. It wasn’t only for us and our kids. It was for my Dad. To let him know that I had arrived. It always made me feel so proud and so happy that they could enjoy it.

Dad Made Dancing Cool

I am a reflection of my Dad.

My parents loved to dance. They spent a decade or so in a Polish dance group (we aren’t Polish). They spent another decade or so in an Irish dance group (we are Irish). But my favorite was watching them do the Madison.

Back in the 1980’s, sock hops were a thing. People of my parents’ generation would dress up, gather at a local hall, and relive their glory days from the late 1950’s and early 1960’s. My Mom would wear a blue poodle skirt, a black sweater, and a black leather jacket. My Dad would wear pegged jeans, a black t-shirt and a matching leather jacket. I would look at them and think to myself, “My God. I think my parents used to be cool.”

There would be contests at these sock hops for best-dressed and best dancers. And my parents would win, like all the time. I got to see my parents do the Madison a few times, and I always loved it. They were so smooth, so in-sync. My Dad would lead, and my Mom would follow effortlessly. It was mesmerizing.

Fast forward to 1998, the year Janis and I got married. Couples’ dances in the 1990s were pretty boring. Boy’s hands on girl’s hips, girl’s arms around boy’s neck, awkwardly swaying back and forth. Janis and I wanted to do something different. Like my parents, Janis has an adventurous spirit. So we took dance classes in the months leading up to our wedding. We learned how to swing to a Harry Connick Jr. song. I don’t know that we would have won a contest, but we were pretty good. My Dad was the one who had made it cool.

Dad Did Not Have A Chance To Go Back To College

I am a response to my Dad.

My Dad was a highly intelligent man. Curious mind, quick study, excellent problem solver. But he didn’t have a college degree. After high school, my Dad moved to California to live with his brother for a spell. He took some classes at UC-Riverside, but it didn’t stick. He eventually enlisted in the Air Force. By the time his four years of service had ended, he was married and had his first child. My Dad had bills to pay and hungry mouths to feed. So going back to college wasn’t in the cards for him.

My Dad had learned computer science in the Air Force, and that became his vocation. In the 1960s, computer science was a new frontier. Over time, more and more college grads entered the field. My Dad eventually found himself surrounded by college grads with a growing number of MBAs. Of course, my Dad was every bit as capable as the college grads, perhaps more so, and he knew it. The military trains soldiers in ways that civilian colleges and universities can’t match. But he didn’t have that piece of paper. Not having that piece of paper hindered my Dad a bit, though the hindrance was probably more imagined than real.

Marcella and I, we saw how our Dad wrestled with not having that piece of paper. But we are in part a response to our Dad. I got two pieces of paper. Marcella got three. And not just any pieces of paper. But pieces of paper that travel, that open doors, that give us credibility in our fields.

My Dad was at times a cautious man. I was not so cautious. When I applied to law school, I picked five good schools. When I told my Dad about the schools, he told me I should apply to a back-up school. He wasn’t being critical of me. My Dad just didn’t want me to be disappointed if I didn’t get in. He thought I should have a Plan B. But I’m not a Plan B guy. I’m a Plan A guy. My Dad had told me throughout my childhood that I could do anything I set my mind to. Well, those five schools were what I had set my mind to. It was too late to change the rules on me. So I told my Dad, “If I don’t get into one of those schools, then I don’t want to go to law school.” End of conversation.

Of course, I did get into one of those schools. But that was an occasion when my Dad got a glimpse into my mindset. A mindset that he helped to shape and mold. His fears were not my fears. Again, this is not a critique of my Dad. This is just part of our evolution as a family. This is what I learned from him. Whenever I face and overcome my fears, I honor my Dad. My accomplishments, large and small, are a tribute to my Dad.

Mom And Dad Were Married For 60 Years

I am a reflection of my Dad.

My parents married on November 7, 1964. Dad was 20, Mom was 17. My Mom dropped out of high school to marry my Dad. My Mom gave birth to their first child on September 7, 1965. Mom was 18, Dad was 21. He was still in the Air Force. As my Mom says, they didn’t have two nickels to rub together. It was a different time.

My Mom and Dad defied the odds and were married for over 60 years. In my entire life, I have never seen a person so utterly and unconditionally devoted to a person as my Mom was to my Dad. My Dad could do no wrong in her eyes. And please make no mistake about that sweet little Irish lady. She is a grizzly bear who will rip your face off if you cross her husband or her cubs.

My parents set an unmatched example of love, devotion, and faithfulness. Marcella and her husband Jim were high school sweethearts, like my parents. They went to Marcella’s prom in 1983. They have been married for 38 years. Janis and I have been married for 27 years. We are a living testament to our parents’ love, devotion, and faithfulness.

Pull Up A Lawn Chair, Dad

I want to thank you all again for being here to honor and remember my Dad. If I told him about the number of people who came to pay their respects, he wouldn’t believe it.

I had lunch with my Mom a few weeks before he passed. We talked about my Dad a bit. Mom told me that Dad had been beating himself up over some comment he made to me several years before. When she told me what the comment was, I didn’t recall it. It didn’t stick to me like my Dad had imagined. My Dad was always too hard on himself. I told Mom to tell Dad to text me about having coffee.

I saw my Dad a week before he passed, but we never had a chance to grab that coffee. If we had, I would have told him a few things.

Dad, the things you beat yourself up about, I don’t remember them. Whatever it was, I’m over it.

If there is anything to forgive, Dad, anything at all, I have long since forgiven you.

And that heavy load you’ve been carrying on your shoulders all your life, Dad. Well you can put that down now. It doesn’t serve you anymore.

And the race you’ve been running for the last 81 years, Dad. Well someone forgot to tell you that it’s a relay race. You aren’t running the race alone. It’s time for you to hand the baton to me, Dad. I will take it from here. Like any good teammate, I will pick you up.

So take off your running shoes, Dad, and put on your sandals. Put on your Bermuda shorts, your favorite Hawaiian shirt, and your beach hat. Don’t forget your pocketknife. Pull up a lawn chair on the porch of the cabin and grab a cup of coffee. Save a seat for Mom. And rest easy.

It’s time for you to rest easy, Dad.

I love you.