I grew up believing my dad was the Smartest Man In The World.
Probably because he told me so. With a wink and a grin, he'd declare: "S-M-I-T-W" when for one reason or another he was called upon to dip into his bottomless well of knowledge to identify who wrote "House of the Seven Gables" or name the capital of South Africa. He was a pre-internet Google search. He simply memorized everyone's phone numbers rather than writing them down.
The "S-M-I-T-W" acronym came from my father's childhood. "S-M-I-T-W" he'd taunt each time he out-smarted his older sisters. It became the gloating response we used within our family when one of us felt we'd outwitted the others: S-M-I-T-W!
Tonight when I brought my mom her meds, I asked Dad if he wanted to watch a movie. Yes, he said, he'd been trying to get one started but was having trouble with the remote.
In the 17 days they've been living here, he's learned to turn on the TV, and I think he can change channels. But navigating the second remote to access Amazon Prime is tricky.
I offered to guide him through the process (again). He held the remote and pressed the buttons as I talked him through:
Home button.
Down, over- over-
Enter
(Whoops)
Home
Down, over--
Repeat
It was a struggle, but his fumbling fingers finally got to the BBC's "Taming of the Shrew." He relinquished the remote sheepishly when I offered to set up the subtitles.
My dad is still very much alive. He converses quite well, as long as you aren't in a hurry. His pauses to find words can stretch out for seconds. Sometimes I offer the word I'm anticipating; sometimes I don't. Is it better to help him along (set up the subtitles) or pretend the waiting isn't a bother (and it isn't...what else do we have to do)?
My dad's days as S-M-I-T-W are, frankly, behind him.
But when he hugged me with his bony arms tonight, I almost told him S-M-I-T-W: Sweetest Man In The World.
Enough.
Stay well.
Write.
Allison
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