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Happy Fathers Day, Stepdad!
A Father By Any Other Name
By Anna Seip
Ever since I was a little girl, I always knew I would grow up to have a son named Marshall. That’s the name of my stepfather, the man who raised me and my brother. Everyone calls my stepdad “Bud,” a nickname that serves as a barometer of how well people know him. If someone called our house asking for Marshall, we knew it was either a business associate or a telemarketer. If they wanted Bud, well, that was a friend or a family member. When we were kids, my brother and I talked about the easiness of calling him by his nickname. Calling him “Bud” was less formal and avoided the issue of whether or not to call him “Dad.” Of course, years later we call him Bud and Dad interchangeably.
But, I still loved to hear strangers say his name. The word “Marshall” sounded strong, like a fire marshal or martial arts. The word “marsh” conjured up images of the coast, tidal marshes and everything good about summertime. The double Ls ended the name with a soft sound. It was the perfect name for the perfect dad.
Bud taught me how to drive, coached me through three years of algebra and picked me up from every cheerleading practice – all without complaining. He always referred to me and my brother as his kids, never his step-kids. When he and my mother divorced after 19 years of marriage, my brother moved in to keep him company.
After college and marriage, I was ready to have a baby. Without the aid of an ultrasound or an amniocentesis, I just knew the baby was a boy. I decorated the nursery in blue, bought a blue car seat. My husband and I didn’t even discuss names. This child would be a Marshall.
We lived in Austin at the time, and the name “Wyatt” was particularly popular then. Two different Wyatt Earp movies had just been released. In Lamaze class, I refused to tell anyone which name I’d picked, for fear that some other pregnant woman would think “Marshall” was a nice, Wild West alternative to “Wyatt.” No one was going to steal what I’d cherished for so long.
A week before my due date, I half-heartedly picked a girl’s name – Eve – just in case the world didn’t go according to my plan. But, Marshall arrived, just like I knew he would.
“What a wonderful name,” a nurse said. “So strong. I might use that if I ever have a little boy.”
I let her know it was OK if she wanted to use the name, since I now had two Marshalls in my life.
When I told Bud what I’d named the baby, he cried. The family took one picture after another of the two Marshalls. The best part was, my stepdad got a new nickname: Grandbud.
My brother tried to call my son Bud Lite, but I nixed that right away.
Throughout his years in elementary and middle school, my son has never encountered another Marshall. He’s one of the few kids I know who actually likes his name. When it was time for my husband and me to expand our family with a second child, we looked for a larger home. We knew we’d found the right place when we saw a house for sale a few streets over – on N. Marshall St. I can’t wait to invite my dad over for dinner.
Happy Father’s Day, Bud.
Anna Seip is a writer and editor with a son named Marshall and a daughter named Lila.
