One-Time Smoker

I have several memories of the typical events that would take place in the mornings of my childhood. You know, the regular morning rituals, such as brushing your teeth, packing your schoolbag, eating toast and orange juice. And, of course, the sound reverberating throughout your entire house, of someone coughing without end. *Cough*, *cough*, *cough*. Yet another minute, and yet another. Horrible, raspy hacking sounds that come from the depths of the chest cavity. Culminating, just as often as not, in a gag reflex leading to actual cough-induced vomiting.

This was the morning ritual which my poor father had to go through, the effects of a three-pack-a-day habit. Unfiltered, I might add. As a consequence, throughout my life, the thought of smoking never once entered my mind.

I recall once asking a friend in my senior year of high school, out of idle curiosity, whether he smoked. His answer: "You know what I think makes more sense than smoking. To take a comb made out of steel, and comb my skin with it, so that the skin peels off and starts to bleed." His response graphically expresses how utterly untempting the notion of smoking was for me.

I'm reminded of a show I once saw on television decades ago. (How odd, and oddly pleasant, to be able to conjure up stories several decades old!) The show, "Scared Straight", was a documentary of a program being used on at-risk teenagers. These teenagers were on the road to a life of drugs and crime, and nobody was able to reach them.

The solution: these teenagers were put alone in a room with some of the more hardened specimens from the penitentiary. (I cannot recall whether the encounters were one-on-one or group settings.) Quite a sight to see these cocky, ornery teens suddenly swallow and become meek as lambs, in the face of the display of ferocity from those inmates. Scared Straight, all right.

My idea for a Scared Straight program: play for youths a video of the first 30 minutes of a typical day of a heavy smoker, in all its non-stop coughing, hacking, wheezing, gasping, and vomiting glory. Every day for a week. My prediction: the percentage of youths who take up smoking will plummet.

One day, a year out of high school, I saw a close friend of mine, who adheres to the proverbial straight and narrow path as closely as anyone I know, smoking. Well, land sakes alive! My shock was such that, if memory serves correctly, I literally snatched the cigarette right out of his mouth and crushed it, followed by quite a stern lecture.

Thus, for the first 45 years of my life, a lit cigarette had never entered my mouth. (I may have once put an unlit one in my mouth.) But two years ago, a friend of mine was over one evening, and we were relaxing and talking. She is a light smoker. I do not allow smoking in my home -- my friends know that they must retire to the balcony when they feel the need to indulge.

But for some reason, on this particular evening, I allowed her to light up in my living room. After a minute, I said to her: "Let me have a try." Her eyes wide-open in utter disbelief, she handed me her cigarette. I held it in my hands, and put it to my mouth. I drew upon it, inhaling deeply, thus, at the ripe age of 45, becoming a first-time smoker.

I loved it! What a rich, pleasing taste! And, much to my surprise, I did not cough in the least. For the next minute or so, I took several more drags on that cigarette, enjoying that satisfying aroma. (Tastes good -- like a cigarette should.) And then handed the cigarette back to her.

Since that evening nearly two years ago, I have not tried another cigarette, nor has the thought as much as crossed my mind. But something about the notion of never having even tried a cigarette made me feel like I was regarding cigarettes as more powerful than myself, as if in order to guarantee that I not fall under their spell, I must make sure to never so much as try one -- otherwise, I would become enslaved to them. Now, having tried one, I know that they are a pleasant indulgence, but one that I can easily choose to forgo.

Postscript. I am pleased to add that, about 20 years ago, my father gave up his decades-long habit of smoking, through the aid of the nicotine patch. Kudos, Dad.