Good afternoon, friends and family. For any of you who don’t know me, I am Sheri Smith, Smitty’s daughter, and I wear his name proudly.
Decency, kindness, honour, respect and laughter – these are the qualities my Dad practised every day during his time on this earth. He saw some serious struggles through the years, but he could never resist the opportunity to have a laugh with friends and loved ones, given half a chance.
Dad saw so much through the course of his lifetime. A child of the Great Depression, born in North Vancouver on September 22, 1934, to Tom and Florence Smith, Dad was the eldest brother of his family. The Smith clan grew over the years to include 8 kids in total. June, Betty, Dad, Patsy, Barbara, George, Margaret and Johnny. Through the early years, Dad’s family lived in a number of different places, from North Vancouver to Whonnock, and from Williams Lake to Merritt, with points in between. After working in his father’s sawmill up Coldwater Road in Merritt for a number of years, the mining bug hit my Dad hard, and he decided that exploration was more suited to his adventurous nature. The Highland Valley region near Logan Lake seemed like a good place to start, and Dad spent plenty of time chasing that fortune, which was eventually discovered by a good friend of his after Dad went on to other adventures.
Dad’s love of baseball began back in those days, when he played for the Nicolaks, a team well known in the Thompson-Nicola region. This love of the game continued through his life. As many of you know, he was quite a sportsman, and of course even more of a showman.
In the early 60’s Dad ventured to Goldbridge for the first time, immediately falling in love with the country, and the lifestyle it offered. And although his wandering spirit took him to Tuktoyaktuk, Pine Point and the Nahanni Valley in the NWT, then to Nevada and Arizona in the search for something more shiny and amazing…and back to the Nicola Valley where Sean and I looked forward to his visits, his mind was often on the Bridge River Valley, and that is where he eventually returned to call home. Goldbridge is where Dad forged a lifetime of memories, and adopted an entire community of friends. He helped raise the kids, and assisted the elderly, and entertained locals and visitors alike. He even built a golf course. And he settled in a peaceful home at the top of BR Con road that was a haven to family, friends and wildlife alike. He waited a long time for that property, but through perseverance and hard work he finally got it. And there, he lived a happy life, on his terms.
Dad was a straightforward man who demanded little from those around him, but who gave the best of himself in return. All he asked of us kids was that we keep in touch and let him know we were ok. As long as we were content, so was he. Once, when I was an angsty teenager, Dad said to me that if I messed up, it was up to me to fess up, and then do my best to fix it. And then, if I couldn’t fix it on my own, he would back me up. But first I had to own it. If I owned it, I would never have to go it alone. That is a lesson I have carried with me ever since. That, and the nasty scolding I got right before he imparted that wise piece of advice, in response to some crazy exploits of my own. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. And I’ll never forget the time I called him, years later, to let him know my life was about to change drastically, albeit in a positive way. He said, “I am proud of you, Baby. Never forget who you are, or where you come from. You’re a Smith, and you come from tough stock. So be yourself and do what you think is right, and you’ll be ok. And I’m behind you all the way.” Other lessons my brother Sean and I got from Dad: “Tell it like it is. Do it with humour if it takes the bite out, but tell it damn straight.” And of course…”Yodeling at the top of your lungs is a great way to get your kids out of bed in the morning.” Cos for any of you that didn’t get to enjoy the spectacle, my Dad could yodel like an alpine lunatic!
Dad experienced loss in his life. He bid farewell to a son, his siblings, his extended family members and his many friends and he did so with grace, and wisdom. I’d like to think he did so with gratitude for those of his clan still here. He leaves behind to celebrate his memory:
His children, Sean, Sheri and stepchildren Kelly and Kimberley. His wife, Shirley. His grandchildren Kyle, Emma, Charlotte, Ashleigh, Katrina and Kierra. His sisters Barbara and Margaret. Brothers in law Barry and and Ray. Sister in law Donna. Countless nieces and nephews and his lifetime of friends and neighbours.
When we lose someone close, it’s sometimes in our nature to want to commit him to sainthood. And I can just hear Dad snorting out loud at the absurdity of that suggestion, right before agreeing to be called Saint Smitty, just cos it sounds so ridiculously regal. But… I will not do that. For, at the end of the day, Dad wasn’t a saint. At the same time, I won’t stand up and regale you with tales of his crazy exploits (of which there were many), because I am pretty sure the statute of limitations has not fully run its course, whether Dad is with us or not. What I will say is that Dad opted to live his life with joy and determination – no apologies, no exceptions. And he encouraged all of us around him to do the same.
So…Today we celebrate a man who, right to the end, retained the spirit of laughter, kindness, wisdom and humour that made him such a treasure to all of us throughout his life. A loving father and husband, a loyal friend, and the brightest light in any room. That will never be extinguished, because his memory will live on in the hearts and memories of those of us that were blessed enough to know him.
Rest easy, Dad. Tune in and turn on.
Sent from my iPhone
Blissful Bedlam 