Dad’s Addiction

Growing up with a father who was hopelessly addicted to smoking cigarettes made me develop a resentment towards cigarettes and a bias towards anyone who was stupid enough to get addicted to them. I never understood why my dad couldn’t stop smoking. Did he not love me enough to want to live to see me get married or have children? In hindsight, I of course understand that these questions were foolish but as a child these thoughts broke my heart.

` For a while, we(being my mom, brother, and I) tried to get him to quit. For every birthday, my brother and I would ask him to quit and for countless years in a row his new years resolution was to kick his habit. But it always proved harder than we thought. He smoked his first cigarette when he was 19 and smoked at least a pack a day since then, giving up such a thoroughly engraved habit was not something he could just do without help.

So, he tried the patch, but it made him break out in hives. He tried gum, but for some reason or another that didn’t work out either. Nothing was working so by the time I was 14 I had just given up.

My acceptance of his addiction may sound sad but in reality it was just when I fully understood the implications of his addiction. Whenever he tried to quit it was awful, he was irritable beyond belief and it always seemed like he was withering away in someway or another. Other than the physical stress withdrawal had on him it took a heavy psychological toll. His only breaks from his stressful job were his smoking breaks where he made friends with the homeless men outside his office building by giving them smokes. This simple practice was part of his everyday life. With out his smoke breaks, his relationship with these men, that he actually had grown to love, would dissipate and his breaks would be spent in the sad, grey break room with the rest of his coworkers eating soggy chicken salad sandwiches.

My dad is addicted to smoking and that is just a fact. I honestly think that if he was diagnosed with lung cancer he would smoke right though treatment and into his death bed. His addiction has rooted itself in his life and if he ever manages to quit I will be the proudest daughter in the world. But if he doesn’t, its okay, I understand. He’s my dad and just this weekend, when he came to one of my track meets, the faint smell of tobacco, on his old leather gloves that accompanies most of his garments, comforted me more than anything or anyone else.