Thomas Smith known as (Tom) or My Dad. 1939 – 2011

Trying to find the words to describe how it feels to be here without him. I still don’t know. You see, I had a father for 34 years and have only not had a father for a few days, so anything I say today must be understood as the words of someone only three days old. But still I will try.

Indeed, this trying effort to accomplish the seemingly impossible — He was the most tenacious person I knew. Focused, and fuelled by a need to be his own man, which he accomplished in countless ways until the very end. To him, it wasn’t “my way or the highway,” it was “my way or the my way.” He was my Teacher who taught by offering both good and bad examples by the way he lived his life. Often teaching me to “do as I say, not as I do”.  He taught me how NOT to drink. How NOT to smoke. And in some ways, how NOT to parent. These have been really important lessons in my life. In his own unique way, he taught me how to love and how to be just who I am. He taught me to think for myself and to keep an open mind, to always listen to the other person’s perspective. He was good at that.  He could argue the other guy’s point better than the other guy!  Even if he didn’t buy it!  And he taught me to never make fun of others but to always laugh at yourself.

The simplest thing I can say about my father is, He was a force of nature, a storm of a man. In his path, things moved. Nothing stayed still. He was primal, persevering, and on fire with the possibility that something good was just about to happen if only you worked hard enough to make it so. Never complaining and always with a unique perspective, he would share the wisdom of his experience the good, the bad and the ugly, if not the outright bizarre in his light-hearted, just shooting the breeze sort of way. Dad knew just how to be there for me.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not talking about Mother Teresa here. No. I didn’t always like him. Then again, I didn’t always like my teachers, either all of whom believed in my potential so much that they were willing to be unpopular with me to make a point they knew would move me toward success. It wasn’t always easy being with him, but so what? Easy doesn’t always equal good. Being a father I guess isn’t easy. My dad was sometimes more like Thor with giant hands like hammers and a voice like god himself but thor with a twist… and a story… and a joke… and a pearl of wisdom only visible to me when I stopped judging him for being so imperfect. Its not always easy being a husband, or a friend for that matter. I became strong because of him able to press through challenges, able to stand-alone, able to share my life with others.

His generosity wasn’t just with our family. In his years, he’d find a way to help his friends and their friends. I’ve never met anyone as generous as the man I right about today. He gave more to people than people gave to him. If someone in our family needed something he’d always try to help somehow. I cannot recall him ever reading a book. He just didn’t except the TV times. And even if he did, he’d rather read people which he became very good at so he’d have you believe. His BS meter was quite evolved.

My father’s last days were not easy. Always used to being in control, he found it hard to concede to the body’s imperfection and the growing need to depend on others for support. Always a giver, now he had to receive. Always the one in charge, now he was the charge of others. That was hard for him. but he began to find his way a new way, a softer way learning the kinds of lessons as he approached death that weren’t always accessible to him in the prime of life. Thank God.

My Dad RIP