A Nasty Night at My Parent's Place
So I went over to my folks’ place tonight ’cause I wanted some advice on a decision I need to make at work. They were actually quite helpful with that, and I think that I now know which choice is the best. Afterwards, though, it devolved into their standard catalogue of everything they dislike about me, which is not all that bad to tell the truth. They’re even correct about some things—although despite my flippant attitude, these are actually things I’ve been thinking of already.
But then it turned from mildly annoying to full-on nasty. My father started castigating for introducing my kid brother to smoking—which might be fair were it true. The facts are somewhat different: he learnt it from his co-workers and I discouraged him from smoking cigarettes once I found out that he was addicted to them—discouraged him quite vigorously, to the point of annoying him quite a bit. I did encourage him to smoke a pipe, in part because I believe that in moderation it is a pleasant past-time with essentially no negative side effects and in part because it has been found to be an excellent way to quit cigarettes. Additionally he was the one who inspired me to buy my hookah, rather than vice-versa.
My parents are very intelligent people, but in some few ways they are complete fools. You know how often I smoke? One pipe a week; perhaps once a month I have a second one. The last cigar I had was at the beginning of April. If that is a dangerous addiction, I don’t know what isn’t. Quite simply, there’s nothing hazardous about four or five pipesful a month and two or three cigars a year. In their defence, I think they believe that it’s impossible to be a once-a-week smoker—but my own example disproves that idea (in college I smoked 4–6 pipes a day, and in my first few years after graduation I smoked most days of the week).
I fanned the flames by saying that I’ve little respect for non-smokers, which was rude and upset my father more than I would have expected. But it’s also true: a non-smoker is like a man who walks around with his eyes closed, adamant that colour doesn’t exist; if only he’d open his eyes he’d see a world of beauty and delight.
What I didn’t say (because I was hot under the collar, and in no mood to be conciliatory) is that I also have little respect for smokers (by which term I mean addicts). Addiction is an ugly thing and a sign of weakness. It’s absurd to be cranky and short-tempered simply because one hasn’t indulged in some pleasure; worse, it’s childish.
Speaking of, I guess I’m growing up: a year ago, right now I’d be smoking a pipe out of spite, but tonight the only aroma in my condo is the night air drifting in from my balcony. I’m more sad about the whole business than angry at my parents.
