Sporty Tomboy

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2002-10-02 03:55:27 (UTC)

Everybody tell NORBY how incredibly awesome his essay is....

Haucking Up a Lung

Im on my way home from a basketball game at the
YMCA, and I begin to notice a faint smell of tabbaco in my
car. "Now," I think, " I know I don't smoke, so where is
this comming from?" It dawns on me that the day prior, I
lent the car to my father, seeing as his pick up was low on
gas. Seeing as my father paid for that tank of gas, I truly
had no say in him taking the car. I begin to get angry at
the fact that my car now smells rechidly of tabacco, and my
own father caused it. But again, I think, Im lucky I have a
father that smokes. It then hits me that that was one of
the cruelst things ive ever concevied, but it was in fact
true. "I am lucky to have a father that smokes," I say to
my self after my breif brush with reality leaves just a
quickly as it came. So now Im in my own little world,
thinking about how sadistic I am after saying that, and I
slowly come back into a normal train of thought. Ok, so Ive
established the I am lucky for having a father that smokes,
but why?
First off, how ever much it churns my stomic, how
ever much it makes me want to vomit, the horrible sound of
him hacking up a lung at 6 in the morning it a rather rude
wake up call. I realize when I here him caugh and clear
flem from his throat, I dont need to do that. Why dont I?
Because I dont smoke. I slowly make my way from the cavern
known as my bedroom to the cavern known as ... my bathroom.
On the breif 5 foot expedition between cold, dark caverns,
and through my blurry, glazed, squinting eyes, I can hardly
make out a very disturbing picture. My father, lighting a
cigar. I think, "ok, thats messed up," but then, again with
reality hitting, I notice that he cant help it all that
much. I pass it off as a mere addiction, as he does. I cant
really say anything bad about addictions, I have my own. I
turn on both sets of lights and moan painfully at the
sudden burst of UV rays that have just penetrated the glaze
over my eyes - begining to burn my retanas. "Ouch," I
think, "Its too early for this." So far in the whole maybe
minute, minute and a half ive been up, my eyes have been
scared from the lights, and my stomic has been twisted from
the sound of the coughs. So I hop shivvering in the shower
trying helplessly to get from the tiles to the tub with out
first falling, and second, falling asleep mid stride, which
mind you, at 6 a.m. has been known to happen! Back to the
shower. I hop in, and what do I hear? Even above the sound
of the shampoo suds splating on the cold fiberglass tub, I
hear those coughs. I shutter at the thought, and start
singing in the shower to drown out the sounds.
By the time im out of the shower, my fathers gone
on his merry way to work, and im left in the house with a
cat and a dog. They are both dead asleep, so I take care
not to wake them by being too loud. But then, out of no
wheres, comes a similar cough to those I heard no more than
15 minutes ago. The only issue this time was, they were
comming from me. I panic and say to my self "Oh my god! I
started smoking and even I didnt know about it." A quick
swallow sends a singnal of pain to my brain. "Phew, just
the typical morning sore throat." The dog comes up to me in
concern and I stare at him as if to say "Is there a
problem?" I get changed, and on my way out the door, I
notice I forgot my keys on the counter. I drop my bag by my
car hitting the door on accident, setting the alarm off. I
doubt the neighbors liked having my insesent car alarm
blaring at a quarter to 7 in the morning. So I run up
stairs, almost face planting into the hallway in the
process, grab the keys, found the little black remote and
pressed the button. Peace and quiet for the first time in,
well, about 30 seconds. I run back down the stairs, this
time being more carfull than before, though still managing
to trip on the very last stair.
I hop in my car, and there it is again. The smell
of cigars. I look in my ash tray, and what do I find? My
junk. Luckily, my father taps his cigars out the window.
Which I thanked him for later. Better that than setting my
car a blaze. So again, im driving, and I think once again
how lucky I am to have a father that smokes. Why, I ask my
self again. I figure its only 7 a.m., so a little bit of a
sadist attitude is justifiable. I finally get my thinking
in order, deciding to ingore the psycopath trying to
pass/race me on main street. I actually come to an answer
on this bitter cold morning. When my father smokes, I find
it repuslive. I find it disgusting and embarrising when he
lights one up in front of my freinds. I realize that I do
not want to become him. Sure, thanks to his addiction, I
get nic fits every so often, and I hate him for that. But
he is my father, and I love him for that. But further more,
I owe him for sacrificing his health so I can notice
what smoking will do to someone, and for proving to me
that I do not want to end up like that. Regardless if thats
why he smokes or not, thats the effect its had on me.
Maybe, if by some chance he reads this, he may decide to
stop smoking, which I hope he does even with out reading
this. Smoking is not a trait of a sophisticated man. Its a
trait of a man that cannot over come an addiction.