Whenever he sees me lighting up a cigarette in the back garden, our grandson Liam always loudly declares that cigarettes are “yucky”.
His reaction to smoking delights me; let’s hope that it endures, despite the awful example I’m setting him. I have some reason to hope that this might be the case. Our elder son – to whom Liam is strikingly similar – also detested smoking when he was a child, and his attitude has never changed. If anything, it has hardened.
It appals me to recall how selfish and careless I was in the past with the health of my loved ones. When my eldest was Liam’s age, daily I ran the risk of doing him more damage than just setting a bad example. Then, there was no such thing as retreating to the back garden for a cigarette; I smoked when and wherever I liked. Most often in the comfort of our living room, forcing my children and their mother, and whoever else happened to be present, to share in the poisonous fumes of my addiction. My behaviour didn’t change throughout the childhood years of our three youngsters.
Thankfully, attitudes to smoking have changed over the past, relatively few years. When I was growing up, and long into my adulthood, virtually every grown-up male smoked. And there was not the slightest allowance made for those who might not.
Indeed, such was our sense of entitlement, we didn’t even allow for others to determine how we behaved on their property. For instance, as soon as the smoker had plonked himself down on a friend’s or neighbour’s settee, he would light up a cigarette and look around for an ashtray. The notion of asking if it was permissible to smoke never crossed our minds.
It was the same if someone was kind enough to offer the smoker a lift in their car. The vehicle would have hardly begun to move before the addict was puffing away, regardless of whether the driver shared his addiction, or of who else was in the vehicle.
I remember a neighbour of ours putting a “No Smoking” sticker on the dashboard of his car – the first I ever saw. On this evidence alone, he was henceforth considered to be a bit odd.
Smokers ruled in those days: with untrammelled freedom to indulge on buses, trains, planes and in the cinema and pub.
When common sense eventually began to prevail and some restrictions were placed on smoking in public, like virtually every other nicotine addict, I railed against them. What nonsense we spouted in our opposition, declaring that the smoking bans were undemocratic as they clearly restricted freedom of choice, and therefore impinged upon a basic human right.
When the “civil rights” defence failed – trumped by similarly based, but far more concrete claims about the rights of non-smokers – we tried the pseudoscientific approach. Ludicrously arguing that there was no proof second-hand smoke ever caused harm to anyone – as if we gave a damn whether it did or not.
About the only thing we got right was our assertion that the initial (very mild) smoking bans represented the thin end of a wedge. It wasn’t long before all but the most fanatical among the pro-smoking brigade fell into line. Although I still smoke like a train, it would never cross my mind to light up indoors, or in any other restricted area.
There are far fewer smokers nowadays than at any time since statistics have been kept (in the UK, 22 per cent of males and 21 per cent of females are smokers). But, worryingly, the greatest increase in smoking is among young people. Included in this number are my two younger children. I occasionally make the case to them for quitting, while they can. But it must be hard for them to take me seriously.
Why don’t I lead the way, and quit myself? Believe me, I’ve tried, but failed so miserably on every occasion that I’m now resigned to being a smoker for the rest of my life. That question, incidentally, could only be posed by someone who has little understanding of the powerful hold that nicotine has on a long-time smoker. God knows how the comparisons were ever made, but it is said by experts that nicotine is, both physically and psychologically, more addictive than heroin.
A couple of times in my life, I’ve realised that something was becoming a little more habitual than was good for my health, and, without too much difficulty, immediately stopped indulging. However, I’ve found it impossible to do the same with cigarettes. This has led me to wonder if some of us are born with a predisposition to nicotine addiction, in the same way that, as is now accepted, some people can be predisposed to alcohol addiction. Or perhaps I’m deluding myself; scrabbling around for something to excuse my own weakness. After all, I come across people every day who have managed to kick the habit.
Meanwhile, what must go through Liam’s head, when, while exhaling smoke, granddad agrees with him that cigarettes are yucky?