Age 4. I wandered alone into the living room while my parents slept. I hovered over the nearly full ashtray on the coffee table and picked up a cigarette butt, I wanted to be like the strong intimidating and all-knowing man my father was. I placed it between my lips and pretended to smoke, just like him.
I feared him then and now that he has long since passed away, I fear encountering him in the afterlife.
Today, I struggle with my addiction to cigarettes and find that after nearly 38 years it is becoming more difficult for me to breathe, yet I still light up.