A Life Well Lived

Dads’ Survival Guide: Proclaiming — Our Beliefs

My Dad had great hair.

It was one of the first things one noticed about Dick Smith. That thick shock of silver hair. A mane spectacular enough to be featured on those hair-loss commercials. And a point of envy for me and my brother. As our hairlines recede more and more. And the comb-over covers less and less.

We inherited a number of traits from Dad. Creaky hips. Bad hearing. The dreaded Gout. But not that fabulous hair. Or his fantastic voice. Nobody could sing as beautifully as Dad.

Dick Smith passed away on Wed April 13th. At 89, he went comfortably in his sleep. Which was no surprise. As his health had been in sharp decline.

Dad was aware of what was coming. Yet, he was unafraid. Completely at peace. Ready to meet his Maker. The Lord God Almighty.

With my sisters by his side, he was more concerned about the distribution of papers and passwords than his deteriorating condition. Which was Dad in a nutshell. Accommodating and selfless, all the way to the finish.

Fortunately, we all had time for goodbyes. Providing a blessed sense of closure for each of our families. Unlike my Mom’s death in ’99. Which happened suddenly. Before any of us could say farewell.

“Righty-o.” Dad’s favorite sign-off. And likely, his last words. As he headed off to Heaven.

Sure, it’s sad to see him go. But inspirational to see how he went. Everyone hopes to reach 89. And go out as courageously as Dad.

A Different Cat

There were many unexpected facets to Dick Smith.

His Pop was a Physics professor at a high school outside Philly for 40 years. Dad was just as brilliant. Earning an academic scholarship to Yale.

But Dad was a prankster. He once cut slivers of phosphorus from a water-filled container and slid them into the back pocket of a classmate’s jeans. Within minutes, the element ignited. Setting the kid’s butt on fire. And setting off his Pop. He marched him by the ear, straight to the Principal’s office.

At Yale, Dad found a lifelong passion. And my mother. He joined the Glee Club as a baritone. And pestered Lois Baker, a Yale librarian, for a date. Lois refused to go out with students. So moments after graduation, Dad raced across campus to announce his newfound eligibility. They married in 1956.

Dad pursued finance over insurance work. Explaining, “Actuaries are guys who wanted to be Accountants but didn’t have the personality.” He spent the bulk of his career as a CFO. A numbers guy. With a personality.

Dick Smith was an artist at heart. An accomplished photographer who tinkered in his own darkroom. He pursued lithography. Created elaborate woodcuts that he printed as Christmas Cards. Each with a Scripture passage in beautiful calligraphy. Meticulously hand-drawn with his fountain pen.

And Dad sang. As often as possible. Serious singing. In the New Haven Choral. The Pittsburgh Symphony. And the Yale Alumni Chorus. Touring the world for concerts with fellow Elis.

While none of us are singers, we loved watching Dad perform. And nothing was more memorable than Dad taking the Woolsey Hall stage at age 85. Belting out the Yale Football Fight Songs for the Glee Club finale. Followed by member after member shaking the hand of their Class of ’54 alum. With the fabulous shock of silver hair.

Conviction

Dad was a man of conviction. He believed what he believed. Never wishy-washy. Or on the fence. And he was certain when his body gave out, he’d be heading to a glorious place. To him, God was very real.

And here we are, on the holiest weekend of the year. When Passover and Easter coincide. Facing the question of God’s presence. A chance for every Dad to reflect. On what we believe. And why.

Passover celebrates the Lord’s intervention. Releasing the Israelites from Egyptian captivity. Miraculously. Following instructions from Moses, the Hebrew people painted their doorposts with lamb’s blood. Signaling the angel of death to ‘pass over’ their household. Saving Israel’s firstborn. And launching their path to freedom.

Easter commemorates a harrowing week. After the Last Supper with His Disciples, Jesus of Nazareth was arrested, interrogated, flogged, then crucified. He was buried in a stone tomb. On the third day, Jesus was resurrected. Defeating death. And providing eternal life for all humanity. Not because we earned it. But because of God’s infinite grace.

These events defy logic and rationale. Offering little scientific proof. Only Scripture. And the faith of millions. Over thousands of years. Convinced these accounts are true. A transformational sense of hope. Knowing God is real. And present. The same, yesterday. Today. And tomorrow.

Many Dads are unsure about our position on God. Maybe we believe. Maybe we don’t. Perhaps we’re on board in our minds. But not so much in our daily lives. Treating these holidays as just holidays. Symbolic. Traditional. Ritualistic. Rather than real.

My Dad wasn’t one for unsolicited advice. Yet, he’d likely encourage us all to take a moment. Think things through. Because we never know when the end will come. So, we best be prepared. Certain of what we believe. And living every day with conviction.

In my wife’s final conversation with Dad, she asked about a favorite hymn to be sung at his memorial service. Dad piped up and started singing ‘The Lord’s Prayer’. His voice was weak. His breathing was labored. But his heart and soul were fully engaged. When he finished, Dad flashed a wonderful grin.

No doubt the Lord was smiling, too. Well done, my son. A life well-lived. Now, it’s time for you to come home.

“Righty-o.”