Family: When Strong Hands Prevail

 Much to my shame, my  12-year-old self began to assert itself in some sad ways. For one thing, I wanted to be like the guys around me at school. And it was the "in" thing even way back then to have a go at smoking.

I had no real desire to smoke. It seemed nasty enough filling your lungs with gaseous poisons just for the fun of blowing them out into the atmosphere. But the other guys were doing it. Bobby had to try.

My step-dad smoked. A lot. But both he and my mom, though neither of them were active believers, made it clear to me that I was not to be a part of what the crowd was doing, even if that crowd included my step-father. They went to some extremes with this protectionism, mainly out of fear, but I can still be grateful for the things they spared me.

I had heard the conventional wisdom and humor about smoking. "Fire on one end, fool on the other." "You don't smoke, it's the cigarette that smokes, you're just the sucker." "A guy starts smoking to prove he's a man, and 20 years later he tries to quit to prove the same thing."

All nice sound bytes, but I wanted to keep up with the "Jones's" at my school. So one day I brought some "smokes" into my bathroom with me. I can't remember now how I got them, probably a friend trying to convert me. I sat on the chair provided in such rooms, and proceeded to light up. I was just sucking in the gross air when I heard the front door open, and my step-dad's voice.

What was he doing home? I had calculated this thing all wrong. I quickly, and with relief, dropped the cigarette in the toilet and gave it a flush.

Two things I hadn't counted on in my young life of crime. Smoke odor doesn't leave a small enclosed room too quickly. And water pressure in a toilet is not always strong enough to push an item like a cigarette to its intended destiny.

My step-father used the bathroom next. And my readers will just have to imagine from here exactly what happened. There was no unnecessary violence. Let's just say a firm hand prevailed. I have not so much as looked at a cigarette longingly from that day until the present.

How I thank God for it. How I wish there were more strong hands in the home. 

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