"That's just stupid."

    Last night, I had a dream.  I was remembering something that happened to me long ago in my ever blurring childhood.  I was freckle faced, with long braided hair and I was running.  I was running through the tobacco fields.  It was a beautiful sunny day.  And strangely enough, even in my dream, the smell of the tobacco was wonderful.  We'd play hide and seek in the drying barn and pretend to roll homemade cigars.  It was a good, warm memory.
    At age 9, though neither of my parents smoked, I was convinced smoking cigarettes was the cool thing to do.  My friends and I smoked Salem menthol.  In movies and on television, we were surrounded by smokers.  It made us feel grown up.  I smoked all the way through High School and throughout my early enlisted soldier days.  By then, I had convinced myself it was good for weight control.  After all, it kept me from snacking.  I was stationed in Germany.  German food is difficult to resist.  I changed my brand to Virginia Slims.  It made me feel like I had brought a bit of home with me to Germany.  On occasion, I would smoke those pastel English cigarettes.  Why not, I had more cigarette rations than I use, they were cheap at 45 cents a pack and they made me feel more European.
    When I got out and went to college, I still smoked.  What stopped me?  I worked at a local bar during college.  At 3:30 am, I would come home from work reeking of smoke.  It didn't matter how much I washing and scrubbed my uniform, I still could not get rid of that nasty smell.  If I did, it would just return after my next shift.  I didn't work there long, but it changed my life.  When I left the bar for another job, I quit cold turkey.  Soon I was motivated by the fact that my eyes were no longer bloodshot, my fingernails and teeth no longer stained.  The smell eventually left my life, or so I thought.
    I went back in the Army after college as an officer.  As I climbed up in rank, many around me smoked cigars.  Break time during a dressy social event was a good time to go outside for a good cigar.  It was also an opportunity for experienced officers to mentor younger officers.  The smoke bothered me so I stayed inside feeling left out, abandoned, missing out on what I saw as a valuable bonding experience.
   Chewing tobacco helped many of my fellow officers stay alert during long field exercises or deployments.  I guess the negative long term effects of this practice were not as important as the immediate positive effects.
   Once we had our youngest, tobacco slowly left our lives.  We made better choices.  Our home became a "no smoking" zone.  The humidors became empty wooden boxes, kept only because they are well crafted.  Now they are a memory of a time long ago.  One day, they will hold baseball cards or old photos.  Today, we spend less time where others permeate their surroundings with smoke.  It gives me a headache and I don't want to think about what the second hand effects are.  As we drive around town, I still see parents traveling in closed window, smoke filled cars with kids.  Ignorance is bliss, I guess.  It won't always be.
   This morning I asked our son, now a teenager, if he had ever been pressured by peers to smoke cigarettes.  He said, "I know someone who smokes.  He's not one of my friends.  He's older.  I don't understand how people can think its good for them."  I told him, "Its not.  They know its not.  For some people, they choose to believe it makes them look well, cool."  He replied, "That's just stupid."  Then he rolled over and went back to sleep.  We'd had our little heart to heart and there was a two hour delay for school due to snow.

Me at age 19...being stupid.