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Love and death: reasons to kick the habit By Paul Fattig One of my newsroom colleagues quit smoking over the Christmas holiday. Cold turkey. It seems he had developed a bit of a wheeze in his chest. His doctor figured it could be a touch of asthma aggravated by 14 years of smoking. He promptly snuffed out his habit. The secret to his success: keeping a particularly vile-smelling butt squashed in an ashtray on his back porch. Whenever he feels the need for a cigarette, he breathes deeply of the stale cigarette posterior. The strong urge to upchuck cancels any desire to smoke, he reports. That�s good. He�s a very talented writer. I�d hate to see his career go up in smoke. It also strikes me that Valentine�s Day is an ideal time for other smokers to consider kicking butt. I don�t suggest quitting as a way to spark romance. But one could certainly make the case that the smoker�s telltale yellow fingers, the periodic hacking cough with its associated phlegm and the breath smelling like it belched out of a �51 Buick�s rusty tailpipe don�t light many romantic fires. I make the suggestion because quitting smoking is one of the best ways to tell your kids, your spouse and your parents � anyone you love � that you care about them. And I make the suggestion now because Feb. 16 looms on the horizon. It invariably brings with it memories of that cold, rainy day in 1961 when our bus pulled up to our driveway in Kerby after school. It was not the best of timing. A long black hearse was backed up to our front door. The rear doors were open. Two men were pushing a gurney into the back of the hearse. A white sheet covered a still form on the gurney. I was 9 years old, one of five siblings who lost their dad that day from lung cancer. A longtime smoker, he was 54 when he died. I remember the rain, the gray sky, the leafless trees and the deep despair. I remember my crying siblings and mom hugging in the driveway. And I remember standing off to one side, clenching my jaws and fists, angry at the world. The man I was named for had been taken away forever. Like most little kids, I figured my dad was invincible. I figured he was just recovering in the hospital bed temporarily placed in the living room. But he had come home to die. Specialists in Portland had told him his cancer was terminal. He had lived through a horrible logging accident half a dozen years earlier, albeit he lost his right leg at the hip. But he had survived and started a greenhouse nursery. He could tell you the Latin names for most indigenous plants in Southern Oregon. He liked to tell stories about his native Ashland, where he was born in 1906. He liked to read. He liked to laugh. And he liked to smoke. Joe Camel would have loved him. He preferred Joe�s nonfilter brand. When he wasn�t smoking cigarettes, he was usually puffing a pipe. The logging accident must have been quick and painful. But the cancer had to have been much worse. Its pain was both physical and emotional. The silent killer that came to our house was slow and methodical, leaving only after it had achieved its deadly goal. I�ve always regretted not having a father to help guide me through adolescence, of not being able to tap into his experiences, of not having that lifelong friendship. I felt cheated. I still do. Forty years hasn�t lessened the hurt. Had he lived, I suppose he would never have measured up to my childhood expectations. But I would have given anything for the opportunity to have been at his side a little longer. Like most Americans, I was angered and disgusted when tobacco company executives lied to Congress a few years ago about the health hazards of smoking. Yet I seriously doubt that any smoker can honestly say he or she doesn�t know that smoking can eventually kill. My dad was a bright guy. He knew that smoking was bad for his health. He knew that each cigarette smoked took away precious time from his wife and five young kids. If you smoke, think about quitting. If not for yourself, then for the ones you love. Have a heart this Valentine�s Day. You can reach reporter Paul Fattig at 776-4496 or e-mail him at [email protected] Mail Tribune Home | Ottaway Newspapers, Inc. | Dow Jones & Co., Inc. | Privacy | Contact Us Copyright � 2001 Mail Tribune, Inc.