As a little girl, I hated long car trips in the station wagon with my parents. They would smoke cigarettes at the same time and only crack the window. It made it hard for me to breathe. They were wrapped up in their own stresses from the car trip, while I was preoccupied with my desire to avoid the heavy tobacco smoke. One of them smoking would have been a challenge for me, but both at the same time was too difficult.
The culture surrounding smokers was not as restrictive as it is today. Adults could smoke anywhere and anytime. Even though they were in the car, not in a classroom, my elementary school teacher’s health lesson on the dangers of smoking went round and round in my head like a vinyl record on continuous play.
Finally, we stopped for gas at a gas station that had a general store filled with toys, trinkets, and souvenirs that would amaze any child. I was no different.
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My mom saw me cruising the aisles of the store and approached me putting her arm around my shoulder. “Choose one thing,” she said with a smile. I was their only child, so they often indulged my wishes.
She must have understood how a toy from countless options would tempt any child. She reached into her wallet and pulled out a crisp bill, “Keep it at one dollar.”
Fantasizing about what to buy was almost as exciting as choosing the toy and playing with it. I went up and down each aisle again, doing mental gymnastics over what I would purchase.
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After what felt like a blissful eternity, I had narrowed my choice down to two things: an empty corn cob pipe and a little monkey that would puff smoke from a fake, small cigarette of rolled paper that would require an adult to light the paper first.
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Since the corn cob would not need adult help and supervision to enjoy and play with, I eliminated the monkey and chose the pipe. “Why did you choose this, Desi (my mom’s nickname for me, a shortened version of my middle name)?”, she asked. “It’s a gift,” I decided, beaming with a smile. I had a new and bigger reason to choose it that came to mind at that moment. The cashier put it in a small bag and handed it to me.
Once we were all three back in the car, but before they were ready to go the distance with more cigarettes and more adult conversations, I said, “Daddy, I have a surprise for you.” I gave him the bulging bag. “Open it! Open it!” I encouraged him with my excitement and pride.
He opened the bag and looked inside then emptied the bag’s contents into his lap. “A corn cob pipe?” he questioned. “Yes, Daddy. Now, instead of smoking cigarettes, you can make believe you are smoking. This way,” I said fighting back tears, “This way,” I repeated with slightly more resolve and realization,” You can puff on the empty pipe whenever you want a cigarette without,” I paused to recall the words my teacher used to explain smoking and cigarettes to us, “the dangers of smoking.”
We all sat in silence in the car with seatbelts on but not moving forward. My parents exchanged glances. My dad broke the solemn silence and said, “Thanks, Desiree,” as he puffed on the pipe a few times to show how much he liked my gift, an investment in his health span and hope for his longevity.
For the rest of the journey, neither one smoked. My mom chewed gum and my dad puffed on his pipe for the entirety of the trip. Breaking free of the desire for the addictive nicotine of cigarettes would not be easy, but my gift and explanation would inspire them to choose to be smoke-free and stick around a little bit longer.
They sacrificed for me. Although my mom passed away at age 57, my dad lived to be 92 years old. My gift of a pipe to him was more than a dollar toy. It helped extend his life for decades and each one was a blessing of time together, shared wisdom, and parental love worth more than $1.
