When I was a teenager I started smoking. I wanted to be like my dad and smoke Camels. Unfiltered, one word I would use to describe myself. I didn't like everything about smoking. The after smell was an insult. A freshly opened pack lingered the aroma of ancient. The pack of Camels was way cool. I started sketching the pack during English class in high school. Rhett, Rhett cigarette the kid beside me chanted. My cowboy boot sent him off his chair and onto the floor. On the way to the principals office I took out most of the smokes and dropped them off at my locker. I already spoke English I reasoned. I focused on envisioning a series of paintings of the Camel pack; imagine my disappointment learning Larry Rivers beat me to it and in a big way. Smoking did have its redeeming qualities, collecting Zippo lighters for instance. And then there was the college girl who, while sitting in a nightclub waiting for the Talking Heads to take the stage ask if, I had an extra one of those. We drank Southern Comfort on the rocks. A romance with fire. 11 November 2008
Camels
When I was a teenager I started smoking. I wanted to be like my dad and smoke Camels. Unfiltered, one word I would use to describe myself. I didn't like everything about smoking. The after smell was an insult. A freshly opened pack lingered the aroma of ancient. The pack of Camels was way cool. I started sketching the pack during English class in high school. Rhett, Rhett cigarette the kid beside me chanted. My cowboy boot sent him off his chair and onto the floor. On the way to the principals office I took out most of the smokes and dropped them off at my locker. I already spoke English I reasoned. I focused on envisioning a series of paintings of the Camel pack; imagine my disappointment learning Larry Rivers beat me to it and in a big way. Smoking did have its redeeming qualities, collecting Zippo lighters for instance. And then there was the college girl who, while sitting in a nightclub waiting for the Talking Heads to take the stage ask if, I had an extra one of those. We drank Southern Comfort on the rocks. A romance with fire. 
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1 comment:
Beautiful snapshot, wonderful post.
As I read, I envisioned your sole kicking your classmate, then you marching your (cig)butt off to the principals office...what a defining moment.
Thanks for sharing such an experience. You inspired me to think about my grandfather.
While on his deathbed he asked me to sneak into his dresser draw and pluck a smoke. You see, my grandmother, who was a retired nurse, banned him from smoking.
Well, I felt guilty, but I would have felt more guilt if I were to refuse my grandfather's last request.
He loved puffing on his Lucky Strike's, and so, I went on to hit the bulls eye, flicking his zippo. And beyond the cloud of smoke, I saw the love in his eyes. That erased any guilt that I had.
Later that day, he passed on peacefully during his sleep. This broke my heart, but at the same time I felt happy...for this 5-year-old kid, felt like a man, and fulfilled his grandfather's final request.
This became a defining moment in my life.
Oh, many years later, during my High School graduation, my grandmother gave me a card and a big hug.
She was so proud of me; that's when I confessed: Grandma, I have something to tell you.
She looked at me adoringly and said, What is it, dear?
Mincing my words I replied, Do you remember when I watched grandfather and you banned him from smoking? Well... .I snuck grandfather a smoke.
She smiled and said, I know! and I love you for that.
Rhett, I must end here. I am filling up with tears of love.
Thanks again for not filtering your heart, for I just took my filter off.
Love, Peace & Soul,
Doug
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