Firsts: My First Cigarette

I'm not very proud of today's "first." I'm also not sure it actually was my first cigarette. I seem to remember seeing the warm glow of a cigarette tip many nights as I smoked my last one of the day in my crib after my folks turned in for the night (NOT REALLY!!). Seriously, back in the day my Dad (like most men) smoked. Thankfully he stopped in the mid-sixties when the Surgeon General put out the definitive statement that smoking causes cancer.

Before that Dad was a regular smoker. At the time of this photo he was obviously smoking filterless Pall Malls. See the package on the coffee table? If you look even closer at the photo you'll see the real reason I liked to be around when Dad lit up. See the little blue box of matches on the coffee table behind me? That's what I really liked. I have always been fascinated by fire. When I got old enough (some might question that) Dad let me light his cigarettes for him. Sometimes after I lit his cigarette Dad would put it down in the ashtray. When he did I'd ease over and pick up his cigarette like a take a puff waiting for him to pop me (notice how he is already balling up his hand in a fist in the photo). Sometimes Dad popped me, and sometimes he didn't. It was worth it though - to see how far I could go.

Truth is - the look I have on my face in this photo pretty much captures my attitude as a little boy. It's that, "push-everything-to-the-limit-and-see-what-you-can-get-away-with" look that other parents may be familiar with. I know that's what the look was because I was the one behind it. Knowing me, I probably turned around after I took a drag on Dad's cigarettte and took a swig of his coffee sitting on the coffee table.

My main feeling when looking back at photos like this one half a century later is shame (maybe that's why Mom took the photo?).  I also feel pangs of regret too - regret that I put my parents through so much. For instance, one time after I lit Dad's cigarette I threw the still-lit match in the kitchen trash can and caught the kitchen on fire - but that's a whole other story. I also regret the fact that there's a part of me that hasn't changed much from the attitude of the kid in this photo. Like you, dear reader, I'm a work in progress. That's not an excuse; it's a fact. Lord help me to straighten up - and to surrender fully to you. And Mom and Dad... I apologize; I'm sorry for what I put you through.  Oh, and Lord, one more thing...thanks for giving me little angels for children of my own. AMEN!