Kids Smoking

Kids smoking

I'll never forget my first drag. I was probably eight or nine years old. It was autumn. We had just raked the neighbors back yard. She was old and her dead beat husband didn’t do much yard work. When we finished our work we began to put it into a yard waste container; a cardboard box. I don't know what possessed us to do it. It's still a mystery. This friend of mine had talked me into many strange things before but this one took the cake.

Hand rolled

The tobacco was a mixture of grass (the lawn kind) twigs and, maple leaves. We tore off a flap from the box and used it as rolling paper.  This wasn't your average cigarette, it was more like a cigar for King Kong. We had to hold this yard waste tobacco stuffed corrugated cardboard cigarette with two  hands. What could go wrong?

Got a light?

We just needed matches. My friend always had a box handy. He was a bit of a pyro. He once made a Popsicle stick replica of the towering inferno and set on fire on his upstairs den floor. It was before smoke detectors and common sense. Back to the backyard. His eyes gleamed as he glided that wooden matchstick across the side of the box.  The flame ignited and so to, our curiosity. 

Cool kids

Smoking was cool. Our parents did it. Heck, I use to go the variety store every day to buy my mom a pack. I didn't even need a note. They knew I was the "smokers kid" Now I was going to find out what the hype was all about. Home grown backyard style. 

The fires of curiosity

My friends and I started to puff the yard waste. The cloud of smoke caught the attention of our neighbor.  Not only had it caught her attention it caught the grounds attention too. It was on fire. We didn't notice that the heater had fallen out and landed on raked pile of potential tobacco. Suddenly flames started shooting up from the ground. The old lady said she was going to call the fire department. We knew that if they showed up, we would never live to smoke again. There we were stomping and coughing our brains out until the fire went out. All that was left was a cloud of smoke left by the fire and three kids scurrying home.

When the smoke cleared and the threat of stupid ideas was gone, the old lady went back in. We had dodged a bullet. You would think we would have learned our lesson. I did but apparently my matchbox friend didn’t. His curiosity was on fire. Heck, everything he touched was on fire. He even came over and lit an oil slick on the driveway on fire just, I don't know,  because.