Clemson's Smith specializes in smiles

To understand Tanner Smith you have to retrace his steps.

Go back to the beginning, Tanner at age 3, those cloudy memories of his father's cancer prognosis. Hospitals. Sadness. Fear.

Think about learning of this strange antidote called a bone marrow transplant. Think about how the procedure designed to fight off the cancer, has for a decade and a half attacked his father's body, more specifically the transferred white blood cells attacking his own. The condition is known as graft-versus-host disease.

Craig Smith can't produce saliva or tears. He's had to give up his dental practice.

Think about the miles driven, the hours spent in waiting rooms, 15 years with a father in and out of hospitals. Think about seeing your father constantly weak, consuming a diet of antibiotics.

Then you understand how important it is that Craig Smith left the hospital several days ago and will be able to watch his son on the court at 1 p.m. today when the Tigers travel Georgia Tech.

Know that father and son used to drive to from their suburban Atlanta home to watch Georgia Tech play at the Alexander Coliseum. Think about how Craig once turned to his son and said "wouldn't it be cool if you could play here?" Tanner will today.

"Everybody in Georgia is usually a Georgia fan," Tanner said. "My mom went to Georgia, me and my dad ganged up on her so we would always try and root for Tech ... We have been to the SEC Tournament in the Georgia Dome and stuff like that.

"We never thought I'd be playing in such a big arena."

You begin to understand how earning a spot in Clemson's rotation as a true freshman — when his own family once thought he was maybe a mid-major player — is a secondary accomplishment.

The greater Tanner Smith achievement appeared as a feature story on the front page of ESPN.com on Wednesday.

If Tanner's teammates didn't know his story they do now: Craig's battle with cancer, and how a young Tanner, seeing all this, seeing all this hurting in hospital rooms has done something about it. Read his story and then you understand Tanner's empathy

As a fourth grader he offered his mother three Christmas wishes: a dog, to play pro basketball and to make kids with cancer laugh.

A decade later: Check, we'll see, and check.

He got the dog, now a 9-year-old yellow lab named Griffey — and Tanner is bummed Ken Griffey Jr. isn't headed to Atlanta.

Kathy Smith thought that would satisfy her 9-year-old, but it didn't. This wasn't a whimsical thought. Tanner wanted to help.

In the sixth grade Smith and his mother began delivering Tanner's Totes, bags of modest goodies designed to warm those sterile hospital rooms. They haven't stopped.

He had seen his father light up at receiving what he thought were insignificant items. He saw how every card, picture or flower found a place in his room.

"Tanner knows the difference between sympathy and empathy," Craig told ESPN.com. "That's what he has for these kids: empathy. He's seen me in the hospital. He knows what it's like."

Tanner and his mother have delivered 1,200 tote bags. And that number is soon to grow exponentially.

Since the story emerged Wednesday, Tanner said they have been overwhelmed with letters and donations from across the country. He said the monetary offerings have been substantial.

A few hours of publicity on ESPN.com has allowed Tanner to not "worry about the little things" in regard to their nonprofit operation. The Web site is: www.tannerstotes.com.

Tanner has a vision for his nonprofit group. Craig filed the proper paperwork to have it classified as nonprofit. He has suggested that his son — an aspiring business major — stop simply filling bags and go big: grow this, no limits, be a CEO of sorts.

"I think it would be stupid to stop," Tanner said. "If I stop it would be a disappointment. I know we can do some really good things."

Said Clemson coach Oliver Purnell: "I'm old enough to understand young kids are going to read that and go 'man that is pretty cool. I'd like to do something like that.'

"He is going to affect a lot of people ... not to mention the immediate impact with the kids he has touched."

Tanner can't create miracles.

He knows that's not in his power. But he says he can take some of the hurt away for a just a moment. He has seen it happen in the hospital rooms — saddened faces lighten.

And at some point today, when he sneaks a view into the stands today, surely it will happen again.