Smokin’ … Pre-Teen Nicotine

 

When I’m seeing a new doctor for the first time, which is occurring with increasing frequency nowadays, during the initial Q&A they always ask me if I smoke.

And I always answer,”Not unless I’m on fire.”  

Even though that’s a response you would expect from a certified smart alec like myself, it’s the truth.  However, if you were to press me further, I would admit that for a  period of time I was a smoker - even if it it was between the ages of 11 and 13. 

Dennis, one of my running buddies at the time, decided that to be cool, we should be smoking. Of course, I had already been puffing on candy cigarettes for a several years, so this was an easy transition. And back in the mid sixties, real smokes were about as easy to get as the candy ones. Here how it worked: we walked into the lobby of a nearby cheap motel, put two quarters in a machine, used both hands to pull a lever, and walked out with a pack of Marlboros, or Winstons, or Lucky Strikes, or whatever we saw the older guys smoking. The person behind the desk didn’t look at us twice because there was no age limit. If a 3 year old in training pants toddled in and could work the machine, he would leave with a pack  of cigarettes - no questions asked. 

It’s hard to believe how widely accepted smoking was back then. The tobacco companies used doctors to promote their health benefits.   The Marlboro man was an American icon. There were  magazine ads showing sports stars like Mickey Mantle puffing away. You could smoke in restaurants, elevators, even  airplanes. So what happened when the oxygen mask dropped down?

This was also about a year before the surgeon general’s warning appeared on the package. Like that would even matter to me. C’mon - I was eleven. I was almost immortal. That was then. Now, I check my vital signs every morning. Genetics were also on my side. I had a grandmother who lived to be 92 years old and not only lit up a pack of Raleigh’s every day, but ate more salt than they put in a homemade ice cream churn. I had no reason to worry. 

Dennis and I  generally smoked in the woods. It made sense; there was no reason to raise our parent’s suspicions. Our favorite spot was some huge limestone boulders.  We climbed to the top and lit up, confident that we could see anyone headed our way. We would also take turns hiding the unused smokes. My favorite spot was the back of our basement, inside an old chaise lounge cushion we never used. 

We did this for over a year. It’s amazing that we didn’t get caught; and more importantly, didn’t get hooked on those things. Studies have found nicotine to be as addictive as cocaine or heroin.  That’s scary.  Hey, it’s hard enough for me to lose weight - and food doesn’t have nicotine (that we know of).  

After a couple of years, Dennis and his family moved out of state, and my  days as a junior smoker abruptly ended. I never really enjoyed smoking - it didn’t taste good, and it made your breath smell like a barn. It was probably the thrill of doing something sneaky that your parents didn’t know about. Without Dennis to share in the excitement,  my interest waned. 

I didn’t run into any more smokers until I attended college, and thankfully not very many of them. By then, I was an enemy of tobacco.  Interestingly, there was a member of my fraternity who didn’t smoke, but preferred to date girls who did. I didn’t get it. Finally I asked him why. There was no hesitation - he answered,”Well Joe, we both know smoking is a bad habit.  And my theory is, if a girl smokes, it might be one of her many bad habits, if you get my drift.”

I guess it could’ve been worse. They could’ve been chewing tobacco.