My mother and father were heavy smokers, and for being trapped in a house with smoking for so long, I had a sworn hatred of it. It made me angry, infuriated enough that every time I smelled it I dug my fingernails into my skin to distract me from it. My father was a generous man, and I told him he had to pay me 25 cents for each cigarette he smoked, and he did. It was costly, so it actually helped him quit. It was one of my greatest accomplishments, but that was before I knew he had started again behind my back. I threw a tantrum, and started to say that I was going to charge him twenty dollars for each cigarette. Weeks after that tantrum my dad left our home for reasons unknown, and my mother got fired from her job. At that time she was attempting to quit smoking as she was doing very well until my stepfather Kevin came into my life.
Kevin was a smoker too, and he encouraged my mother to start again, which made me even more infuriated. Kevin was cruel when it came too my hatred of cigarettes. He smoked in the same room as me, because he was tired of having to leave the room just because I didn’t like the smell of cigarettes. “The smell? That’s what you believe is the only reason I don’t want to be in the same room as a lit cigarette?” I yelled. Apparently him and my mother believed I just hated the smell. There was numerous assemblies at school, preaching about smoking and how dangerous it was. The poisons that were in the cigarettes, rat poison and ingredients found in toilet bowl cleaner. They told me about second hand smoke, and how if your in the room with a smoker then your basically smoking. In a car in a house, even right beside them while you sit outside, your inhaling the same stuff they are.
“I will never put a cigarette in my mouth, because I already smoked what has came out of your mouth.” I told my mother. She didn’t know whether to be proud or angry of this. No matter how hard I tried to stay away from this smoke, it was always present; there was never an escape. I began falling more and more into this smoke; I began to give up trying to stay away from it. Everyone around me smoked, so I would have to inhale it or leave the home. Slowly I began to stop crying and hurting myself because of cigarettes, I began to stop avoid them and I began to not care whether it was in my lungs or not.
That’s when I began to find interest in Track and Field. I was naturally fast and very skilled. Coach told me I was one of the most excellent on the team, and I was proud because this was my first year in track. Something was slowing me down though, after every practice I coughed and hacked, and sometimes I couldn’t even breathe. It was horrifying, and life threatening. When I went to the doctor they said, my lungs were no better then a smokers. That’s when anger consumed me; years of smoke had affected me, causing me to not be able to do what I loved to do, at my very best.
Cigarettes are wicked sticks of cancer that bind themselves to people like a curse. There’s this anger that boils in me when I see adolescents smoking, because I know they think it’s cool and I know they are going to die because of it and they wont listen to anyone. I hate them, I loathe them, and I can't bear them! No one will ever hate them more then I do. I’ve never smoked in my life, but still I suffer the consequences.
Kevin was a smoker too, and he encouraged my mother to start again, which made me even more infuriated. Kevin was cruel when it came too my hatred of cigarettes. He smoked in the same room as me, because he was tired of having to leave the room just because I didn’t like the smell of cigarettes. “The smell? That’s what you believe is the only reason I don’t want to be in the same room as a lit cigarette?” I yelled. Apparently him and my mother believed I just hated the smell. There was numerous assemblies at school, preaching about smoking and how dangerous it was. The poisons that were in the cigarettes, rat poison and ingredients found in toilet bowl cleaner. They told me about second hand smoke, and how if your in the room with a smoker then your basically smoking. In a car in a house, even right beside them while you sit outside, your inhaling the same stuff they are.
“I will never put a cigarette in my mouth, because I already smoked what has came out of your mouth.” I told my mother. She didn’t know whether to be proud or angry of this. No matter how hard I tried to stay away from this smoke, it was always present; there was never an escape. I began falling more and more into this smoke; I began to give up trying to stay away from it. Everyone around me smoked, so I would have to inhale it or leave the home. Slowly I began to stop crying and hurting myself because of cigarettes, I began to stop avoid them and I began to not care whether it was in my lungs or not.
That’s when I began to find interest in Track and Field. I was naturally fast and very skilled. Coach told me I was one of the most excellent on the team, and I was proud because this was my first year in track. Something was slowing me down though, after every practice I coughed and hacked, and sometimes I couldn’t even breathe. It was horrifying, and life threatening. When I went to the doctor they said, my lungs were no better then a smokers. That’s when anger consumed me; years of smoke had affected me, causing me to not be able to do what I loved to do, at my very best.
Cigarettes are wicked sticks of cancer that bind themselves to people like a curse. There’s this anger that boils in me when I see adolescents smoking, because I know they think it’s cool and I know they are going to die because of it and they wont listen to anyone. I hate them, I loathe them, and I can't bear them! No one will ever hate them more then I do. I’ve never smoked in my life, but still I suffer the consequences.
Gwenndy
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