Wednesday, October 31, 2018

Cigar

This story is a prompt from Words for Wednesday.


My father would have been 99 today. He should have been alive to see it. He took up cigar smoking rather late in life and enjoyed them far too much. He inhaled them. Yes, seriously. The lungs of an ox. He died 15 years ago from heart disease. I'd say caused by the smoking. But there's some that might dispute that. The man would walk a couple of miles a day and go for the long haul on the weekends. Healthy and hearty of appetite. A good grubber as we say in the parlance of my people.

He would find it hard to keep a straight face as two of his children (myself and my brother) would run marathons late in our lives. He thought it ridiculous. Me already a grandmother running my arse off around the city of Toronto. Why wouldn't we walk? How foolish was this?

He became belligerent about his latter day smoking. He would insist that fumes off the tailpipes of buses caused more lung cancer than his puffing away on his Maria Bendettis.

I wouldn’t let him smoke in my car when we travelled throughout the US and much to his chagrin I would descend to the role of persnickety parent with him:

“No one has smoked in my car, Da, so finish it before you get in.”

“What in God's name would one cigar do to a fumey old car? Are you mad?”

“No, but I will be very soon, get out of the car and finish that thing on the side of the road, or put it out.”

Saucy as a child, he would roll his eyes at me and there would be great heaving sighs and mutterings thrown my way as he angrily did what I asked, leaving behind him a heavy sullying of the interior air. No one likes being stranded on the side of the road in the middle of Pennsylvania. And he was against hitching as you'd never know what kind of axe murderer (or worse, he'd say, and I'd think, what's worse?) would pick you up and hack you into grains of sand. I would feel as if I'd caught one of my own teenagers smoking weed as I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel waiting for my oul fellah to do what I told him.

I find I'm getting to that age myself. Where my foolishnesses are ripe for daughterly admonitions (you're not driving all the way across the country BY YOURSELF? You're not eating SUGAR? Did you go out for your DAILY WALK?). I remember the dear old mother of a friend, post heart attack, ordering banquet burgers loaded with bacon and horrible greasy cheese and glaring at us in defiance as we sucked up our belaboured criticisms and let her at it.

It's a teetery old line we walk, much like funambulists, us seniors. Stranded halfway between rebellion and toeing the line.

Now I get it.

This true story has been slightly modified from my original post in 2011

21 comments:

  1. What you write is so true. My 2 adult daughters treat me like I am their kid, not their mother. Lol.

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    1. I think they're terrified of losing us Gigi, it's rather sweet :)

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  2. Loved your take on the prompts. And winced at the truth in it.
    I am rushing towards old age and hope to keep the fires of rebellion blazing.

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    1. Definitely EC we need to be unpredictable and rebellious.

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  3. My father was a regular smoker until he had a stroke at the age of 55 and gave up smoking just like that to avoid another stroke. My workplaces used to be thick with cigarette smoke until smoking in public buildings was banned. Fortunately all that passive smoking doesn't seem to have had any ill effects.

    Of course your father might have been right that vehicle pollution is more dangerous than smoking. Vehicle pollution is so bad now that thousands of people are dying prematurely.

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    1. nick, all that passive smoking could be creating a cancer right now. you wont know the effect until you know the effect

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    2. I've known several who died from passive smoking, heartbreaking.

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    3. I do have a trace of prostate cancer, but who knows what caused it?

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  4. Nice remembrances on your Dad's birthday - I enjoyed the read, WWW!

    I have no offspring of my own to boss me around in my dotage; husband has 4, but so far we just direct orders to one another ("Me: please don't drag me around by the arm when we cross the car park!" Himself: Well do you want to be rundown by one of these idiots texting while parking?") :-)

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    1. "Texting while parking" sounds mighty challenging, but I love it.

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  5. I have an uncle like that; pre-cancerous cells have been found in his throat and he smokes a pack a day but he is adamant that smoking doesn't cause cancer, no siree! -Kate

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    1. The denial can be enormous. My father had quit smoking at 40 due to hernias from coughing (seriously!) but my ex got him hooked on cigars ("this can't hurt!"). As they despised each other I think the homicide was rather clever. (My dark side)

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  6. Nice story ... and artwork. I used to smoke cigars when I played poker. The smoke and the cards just seemed to go together. But first we all gave up smoking, because we finally admitted that the cigars gave us headaches, made us stink, and generally left us feeling lousy for about two days. A few years after that the poker group split up. Is there a connection? Yes ... first we got too old for the one, the too old for the other.

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    1. A story of life, Tom. I recently turned down comps to a dress up fancy gala. Those days are gone, and I'm quite OK with that. My rebellions take other turns now, I still surprise myself.
      Cigars and poker. Much like draft beer and unfiltered cigarettes to me. Amazing we're still sorta standing, right?

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  7. Actually, I admire your father. As you know, I have acquired COPD thanks to over half a century of smoking which included many cigars as well and I stopped too late. There are moments even now, despite my COPD when I yearn for a good cigar after a good meal. It takes a great deal of will power and self berating not to succumb.

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    1. I still yearn for a ciggie if I smell one, Ramana, like you say after a meal. My PVD is directly traceable to heavy smoking even though I quit over 30 years ago.

      I am convinced my father would have hit well over 90 if he hadn't succumbed once more to the power of nicotine.

      I had no idea of its lingering effects on me either.

      XO
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  8. oh, this was so wonderful. a wonderful memory of your father, that I can tell was also filled with love and laughter!

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