Friday, November 27, 2015

2nd Hand Smoke


During my childhood and adolescence my dad was a heavy smoker. And as anyone and everyone in our generation is well aware, inhaling tobacco smoke


…isn’t especially good for a living organism.

Well before the Surgeon General of the United States issued his warning against cigarette smoke, I was already all too aware that wispy white fog which emanated from the end of that nasty brown weed had the wherewithal to kill the person who was stupid enough to suck on the stuff. (Not unlike the infantile habit of sucking a pacifier. At least, that childish habit isn’t hazardous to one’s health).

I mean, all it took for me to understand the foregoing cold hard fact was my father’s daily response to the crap with which he was filling his lungs.

He coughed.

A lot.

As a matter of fact, after having smoked one or two cigarettes first thing in the morning, he would summarily visit the “throne room” and my mother, siblings and I would be entertained with several minutes of the grossest audio of spitting and spewing and gagging emanating from behind that closed door that you can even imagine. And then the sound of a toilet flushing. (And then, God forbid, sometimes the cycle would repeat itself).

I never noticed any particular personal respiratory inhibition, as a teen and young man, but since that time, and as I have reached the grand old age of 2/3 of a century, I have experienced a decidedly unpleasant sensation in my lungs. Granted, I’m still among the land of the living, but a doctor once told me he detected some congestion there, and I have found myself

Coughing and gagging and spitting and spewing, (and generally not having a very good time)

for the space of several moments in order to clear the mucus from my throat and lungs.

Sounds a lot like what my dad used to do; half a century hence.

Second hand smoke.

Thanks Dad, I needed this.


By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 16. Copyright pending.


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