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The Kid Tries Smoking

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I was very impressionable in childhood, and everything around could grasp my attention and get deep down my brain. I had a lot of idols, whom I was so much fond of, most of them were movie stars, famous performers and successful sportsmen. I could spend hours copying their moves, gestures, mimics. The only person who made me forget about all them was my father, who was bearing the palm for me. He was very strict, but fair, always kept his word and knew the best solution to the issues that had ever come across his way.

I was only twelve years old, but already had a very clear idea of the good and the bad things. Unfortunately, I adopted these notions from the surrounding world and from the people I knew. Putting as much efforts as possible into the childish analysis for the better understanding of the world, I was still under the great influence of the people around me, one of whom was my father. Despite my love to analyzing and distribution of all the facts into the tiniest constituents, I fully trusted my dad and never doubted any of his actions or decisions. He was my all-time role model. Thus, his actions could cause only admiration and the wish to follow him on my behalf.

My father did not hide anywhere while smoking. He always did it outside, but never bothered to find a discreet place where other people or I could not see him. His cigarettes were rather pricey and exclusive, and they made me inhale the air after every puff my father let out. I liked this smell, hardly comparable to any other smell I could introduce myself into. Cigarettes that other people smoked awfully smelled, making unpleasantly nauseous feeling. My father trusted me, but despite this, he never left his cigarettes anywhere around so I could even get a close look at them. But one day things went totally wrong, breaking the usual calm routine of our family and caused a lot of further changes.

I woke up on a bright Saturday morning, when the sun was up high, shining brightly and nothing pointed to the events that took place in the next few hours. My father was an early bird, so naturally he was up for a few hours already. I did not know if he was still home, or maybe at the neighbor’s house, where he went sometimes to have a few words with our neighbor and friend about the current events in the world and smoke a cigarette together, standing on the porch. After I returned from the bathroom, I went to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of fresh pomegranate juice, I took out of the freezer a minute before. I pooled the stool close to the dining table and froze in astonishment. I put the glass on the table to be sure not to drop it. I pinched myself on the hand to make sure I was awake. It was there, right next to me. The thing I have never dreamed to see so close, and to hold it in my hands. The pack of cigarettes was lying on the kitchen table, right in front of me. I caught myself on a thought that my dad is staring at me and shaking his head in disapproval of what I am doing. But the room was totally empty. I was doing my best to make my steps as quiet as possible, checking every single room in the house. It was deserted, nobody except me was around. I went to the living room window to had a look at the neighbor’s porch to find it was empty as well. It was my time.

I made a last quick look around, picked the pack, took out one cigarette and put the pack back on the place it lay before. I wanted to make sure my father will not notice anything. Then I went to the backyard, to the far end of it, where a few old trees were interconnected with bushes. I ducked behind one of the trees, pulled out a lighter out of my pocket, and copied my father’s moves I’ve seen a million times before. In the next moment all my dreams were ruined, as instead of joyful feeling I was choking with smoke. I could not understand anything. Why would my father smoke the cigarettes knowing about the bitter and unpleasant taste they had? But I had a firm persuasion to finish off the cigarette I had stolen and I had tried to inhale as much smoke as I could. In a minute my eyes were full of tears, and I felt somewhere between fainting and throwing up. I threw away the cigarette and ran back to the house, being afraid to be caught.

After two hours had passed I recovered enough to repeat my experiment. I did not even notice my father in the far end of the kitchen, while stealing another cigarette from the pack. I realized that he knew where I was and what I was about to do. When I was going toward the secret place of mine he grabbed me by the collar. I held my breath. I have never seen my father so angry before. He was not simply furious, but outraged. I remembered that day for the rest of my life, and I’ve also got a physical mark as well. The line, going across the top of my hand, is still light and visible, after many years after that.

That day I was frightened my father will never forgive me for what I have done. I was crying hard, more from the feeling of guilt than from the physical pain. Years have gone, most events from my childhood vanished from my memory, but I do not forget the moment described above. I made good conclusion for myself so my life is absolutely tobacco free. Whenever I start thinking about the possibility of trying to smoke, I just look at my hand and remember my father and the lesson he taught me.

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