TREBE ORIN

My father was a veteran of World War I. After the war was over he returned to hearth and home, wounded, decorated and proud.

Back then, most of the returning doughboys went about the country side singing "How Can You Keep Them Down on the Farm After They’ve Seen Paree?" Not my daddy, so sirree, to my daddy, everything was "tres bien," French for "very good." He was glad to be home.

My father’s real name was Orin,, That’s spelle O-R-I-N. You can see how, with his going around spouting "tres bien" to everybody, everywhere and about everything, he would wind up with the nickname of "Trebe Orin."

As the years rolled by, my father married and sired seven heirs that to him were "tres bien" indeed. We all called him "Trebe Orin." To his children, my brothers and sisters,
the nickname carried a special meaning – even more endearing than father or dad. The nickname set him aside, a different, unique, and a kind person of a special nature. When her fear of another pregnancy would subside, my mother would also refer to him as "Trebe Orin." Everybody did!

For some unknown reason, "Trebe Orin" had the knack to provide the right answer to a troubled mind and at the exact right time. It was uncanny, especially to his sons; he taught us so many things. He knew when it would rain, what kind of bait to use to catch the biggest trout, how set a box trap, play set back, feed a baby, or call a barn dance like the Virginia Reel. He also knew how to make a snowman, saw wood with a crosscut saw, and every other conceivable bit of knowledge beneficial to a young, inquisitive mind for that time and that place. He was jack-of-all-trades, farmer, schoolteacher, sawmill operator, logger, hunter, fisherman, sage and seer!

He could sight the barrel of a rifle with both eyes open and, while chewing his tongue, knock a squirrel out of the top of the tallest hickory tree in existence. He considered a keen mind as essential as food and water and expertly threw challenges to us, his children, with the dual purpose to entertain and sharpen our wits. He was patient as Job and never once uttered a derogatory remark about a neighbor or a friend.

He was lazy, slouchy and to a certain degree, ill groomed. Yet, he wore these faults like a silk suit. "Trebe Orin" was a man among men. I didn’t adore, admire, worship, or fear him. I just loved him with all my heart!

Now I ask you – is it any wonder that I would like one of my grandsons to carry his name. I figure that with a name like "Trebe Orin" the kid would somehow have an edge. I just know that, somehow, the traits of the original would rub off on a future offspring. I just know it would.

But, with my luck, they will probably saddle the poor little thing with a name like "Barney!"