When I first entered college, I tried smoking, but as Bill Clinton said, I didn't inhale. I temporarily abandoned a leadership roll, and became a follower. It seemed (though probably not) the majority of the Freshman class at Rutgers was smoking. What was I missing? Would this calm the Freshman jitters? They, the University, after all, were trying to flunk a third of us. Would smoking right my keel, and lead me to a safe (passing) harbor?
Not. This smoking faze of my life was short lived. I didn't like the taste, I almost burned my finger, it was expensive, and what finally ended my flirt with tobacco was kissing a girl who smoked...Yuck!
I have dear friends who smoke, and I don't love them any less, although I remind them of the perils often. It's just not my cup of tea, which I did take a liking to (green).
I found out in later years there might have been a gene component to this experiment. My father admitted when he was about the same age, he tried smoking and drinking while stationed abroad during World War II. He too ditched the tobacco, however, he kept the Scotch, even to this day.
Genna, my eventual wife, didn't smoke while courting, but after we were married, we had some "out there" friends who started smoking these little (I forget their name) short cigars. After all, she was an independent, married woman...she'd come a long way, baby! I went along with this with the understanding she had to full throat gargle before she got a kiss from me.
I think she was just doing this disgusting (in hindsight) habit ( though it wasn't yet) for show. As we all know, youth has a craziness to it, or it isn't youth. A couple of months past, and I could see this fad was fading fast. However, Genna had a different way of stopping than I did.
We were out to dinner with her parents, when Genna lights one of these shorties (remember in those day you could still smoke in most restaurants). I glanced over to her mother, who could communicate to her daughter through her eyes, and her peepers were saying "No."
Her father, who had a very expressive face, clearly was not amused. When his optical daggers missed his daughter's sensibilities, he reached across the table while she was in the midst of her third puff, grabbed the cigarillo (THAT'S what they were called, I just remembered), and stuffed it in her water glass. He then started talking about the weather, or what ever, like nothing just happened.
We all joined in talking about a range of subjects, but not smoking.