I woke up this morning, and had my daily morning routine. I sneezed three times and coughed up some weird stuff. Yup, Daddy’s smoking is really messing up my system.
I love my Dad. My dad works 16 hours a day to provide me everything I need and is always there for an extra boost of encourage. But I absolutely HATE his smoking.
When I was young, my grandpa told me Daddy started smoking with his buddies when he was 14 and it was hard for him to quit since then. “You see Shaz, smoking is bad. It can possibly kill you. Please, please, tell your dad to quit. He won’t listen to me!” I was six when Grandpa told me. SIX. I didn’t know smoking was bad, I just knew that if Daddy didn’t get his smoke twice a day- he’d be mad. And so I did what Grandpa asked.
I could see a sense of shame in my father’s eyes that day. Hearing from his six year old daughter that he needs to stop smoking so that he could be there for her one day. But it was hard. Although he reduced his intake, he still did it. And then three years later, Grandpa passed away. And Daddy stopped smoking for good. Boy was he pissed for the longest time. But by the time I was in high school, he took in to other hobbies and forgot all about it.
But then, college began. And Daddy’s new job began. Daddy’s job with rich men and fancy lifestyle. And what does he do with them? Enjoy life and smoke. Yup, there he goes again.
He’s trying to quit again. And I’m leaving for school soon. So it’s not bothering me too much. But here’s what Daddy doesn’t know. I smoked once. ONCE. And it was probably one of the most liberating days of my life. No, I never touched a cigarette again…but how could I blame him?