thoughts.

Momma Says "Don't Smoke"

When I was little I used to treat my pretzels like cigarettes, holding them in my mouth, between my fingers, pretending to puff out smoke. And as soon as my mother caught me she would scold me and say that what I was doing was wrong. I didn't understand. It was harmless. Innocent in a child's mind. But I obeyed. Because I thought my mother knew best. As I grew up she always said, "Never do drugs, never smoke, don't drink. It'll kill you." And I obeyed because it was wrong. I understood the harm. So did my mother. And as the years went on, I saw my mother as a picture of health. She never smoked, beers were few and far between, drugs never entered her body. But then one day, the first pack of cigarettes came. "It's just to relieve stress. I promise it'll be over soon," she said to me with a cigarette between her lips. It's been two years. "Never smoke. It's bad for you," she tells me with the cigarette sitting between her fingers, releasing the smoke from her lips.