WINTER 2005
Tom Smith
Director of Institutional Advancement
ctober 3, 2005, was the day that my father lost his father. My grandfather was diagnosed with lung cancer just three weeks prior and was given four months to live. At 85, he was still very sharp and quick-witted, always making us laugh. Up until this past year he was still reading the newspaper cover to cover, always up on current events – and yes, he had an opinion about everything. My grandfather was a retired Philadelphia police officer and a Navy veteran of World War II, serving on the battleship USS South Dakota.
My father was born in 1946 and is the oldest of three boys. He, like his father, also served in the Navy. I always knew that my father admired his father by the way he would tell us stories of when he was a child. There was excitement at the center of every story with that trademark pause at the end while he reflected on them. Like the time his father first let him paint with a ladder, and the time he spent with his father at the bar that my grandfather cleaned early in the morning to make extra money for the family. Even the time when he crashed his father's Chevy, and the joy he felt that my grandfather did not kill him for it.
When I heard the news of his passing, I chose to celebrate his life. As we prepared for the service, I found it difficult to get into the "celebrating" mood. I kept going back to this one thought – my father lost his father. … It's crossed my mind from time to time, What would life be like without my father? This is the man that taught me how to tie my shoes, ride a bike, fish – well he tried really hard on that one. He taught me how to play basketball and to drive a car. He went to every one of my ballgames and even coached a few years. He was there when I was married and when our children were born. But most importantly, he taught me how to be a father. Like his father did for him.
My father is the greatest man that I know, my hero. Too often I hear stories of men not close to their fathers, not connected, not interested. I love my father as he loved his. To me it is simple and right. I can only hope that some day I can accomplish the things that my father has: the family that he provided for, and the struggles he overcame with the world and with himself. I am still blessed that I can pick up the phone or drive over to my father's house to say, "Hi," and listen to what he has to say about my life and the priceless advice he gives me on fatherly matters. My children are very, very fortunate that I have such a great mentor … my father.
I am part of the new generation of a long line of fathers whose children run to the door when you come home from work and yell at the top of their little lungs, "Daddy!" It is a gift that is given to most of us and an honor that we need to cherish. Recently my daughter noticed that I gave my father a hug and kiss when he was leaving our house and said, "Daddy, you are too big to kiss Pop-Pop." I picked her up, gave her a kiss, and told her, "You are never too big to kiss your father."
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Last modified:
Monday, November 21, 2005 at 04:25 PM
