Cigars and Cigarettes

My dad had many vices including cigarettes, alcohol, fighting, and women. But among his dearest bad habits was smoking cigars. I loved the smell of them and was amused by the heavy smoke that swirled around as he puffed on them.

One day when I was out in the truck with my dad I began to beg him to let me smoke a cigar so I could be a big man like he was. He told me no but I could sense a bit of amusement in my admiration of his smelly vice. As I continued to bug him about smoking just one he relented.

He said, “I will let you smoke one, but you have to smoke the whole cigar and you must never tell your mother.” I was overjoyed…I was going to be just like my dad. I promised I would smoke the whole cigar and would not complain. I also crossed my heart that I would never tell my mom about the secret that just we men knew. That promise lasted for exactly one puff.

Dad got my cigar lit and handed it to me as he and my brother laughed at me. They knew what was coming but I didn’t. I drew in a big puff of smoke and instantly started coughing. My eyes began to water and my nose was running. My dad and brother were splitting their sides as they pointed and laughed at me. Their ribbing did not bother me but the stinging in my throat and the burning in my eyes and nose did. After one puff I had had enough. I tried to hand the big cigar back to my dad but he told me I had promised to smoke the whole thing and I had to keep my word.

He put the brown poison back in my lips and told me to puff. I did. This time it was a little easier but I still coughed. Time after time I puffed and hacked with tears running down my face. My mouth felt like it was on fire. I asked for water to drink but we did not have any plus he told me, “If you drink water you will throw up.” This little boy was miserable. My dad and brother were having a grand old time watching me get sick and turn green.

I was about half finished with the cigar when dad’s big truck pulled up in front of our home. He put the cigar out and told me I did not have to finish the rest of it. He made me promise once again not to tell my mom what he had allowed me to do. “And,” he said, “you cannot get a drink of water when you go inside because you will throw up.” I promised to stay away from mom and water as I walked inside with my cohorts in crime. I was feeling a bit better but my mouth was dry and still burning.

My mother met us at the door and instantly asked my dad what he had been up to. The smirk on his face was easy for her to read. He had obviously been up to no good and she feared this time it included her “little baby.” The gig was up. He told her he had let me have one puff on his cigar after my insistent pestering…that was all…one puff…and I had gotten sick.

She asked me if that was true and I was quick to agree with my dad’s lie. She walked off to the kitchen with nothing more to say. It looked like we were in the clear. But I was still thirsty. I begged my dad for a drink. He quietly told me, “No, you don’t want to throw up do you?” But I felt like a man lost for a week in the desert. I had to have water. So I hatched my own plan.   

I got up and headed for the bathroom. Dad told me once again not to get water while I was there. I told him I wouldn’t. Once in the bathroom I decided he would hear if I turned on the water in the sink as it was right next to the door. So I got in the bath tub and turned on just a trickle of water. I put my mouth up to the faucet and began to suck up the precious water. It felt so good in my mouth. I swallowed one big gulp after another. As the cool water slipped down my throat I thought how wrong my dad had been.  I was not going to throw up. I was even planning on telling him so when all of the sudden what seemed like the entire contents of Outer Mongolia came from my stomach and out of my mouth. I heaved time after time. I thought I was going to die. My parents must have heard me heaving because they came in to check on me. They found me kneeling in the bath tub with puke and water all over the front of my shirt and pants. My dad broke out laughing saying he had told me so.

Mom was more compassionate. She cleaned me up and comforted me, telling me I would feel better soon. She then asked me if I had indeed just had one puff of dad’s cigar or had he let me smoke more. I kept my promise and sided with my dad’s version of the story. “Yes,” I said, “I only had one puff.” The discussion was over but I think my mom still knew there was more to the story than was being told. Now, after all these years, she will know for sure that she was right.

Several years later my brother Tony was smoking a Kool Filter cigarette when I asked him to let me smoke one too. He was down to the end of one that he handed to me. He told me to suck really hard on it and it would make me high. As gullible as any 10 year old boy I did what he told me. I sucked in as hard as I could on the short cigarette. Fire came back into my mouth and burned my lips, tongue, and the inside of my cheeks. He laughed. I cried. But I never again smoked a cigar or a cigarette. Those two experiences were quiet enough to teach me all I needed to know about those vices.