Cigars

My father was a truck driver. I was lucky enough to spend a lot of my childhood travelling around parts of Canada and the U.S.A.with him. Until he accidentally set his truck on fire he smoked cigars. (The heater blew off and over his shoulder in the cab. It landed on some rags between the seats. Next thing he knew smoke was pouring out of the truck. He put it out quickly, and no real damage was done, but he quit smoking that day and never looked back.) Unfortunately it meant I never got to share smoking a cigar with him.

Dad was not a cigar connoisseur. He didn't go in for Cuban cigars or anything fancy. White Owl's were his brand. Smelling a cigar, especially the brands like White Owl, always remind me of the time I spent in the truck. Anytime I think of him and the truck I can always picture it rolling down the highway. Dad with a cigar in the right side of his mouth or between the fingers of his right hand. Hank Snow playing on the 8 track. (oops ... did I say 8 track?) Those were some good times.

I still remember the day when Dad thought he would "cure" me of ever wanting to smoke. He gave me a cigar and said "Smoke it." So I dad. After years of watching him smoke I knew what to do and not to do. I didn't smoke it like a cigarette. When I finished it he told me to smoke another. I did. Then I smiled at him and said "Can I have another one?" He laughed and walked away shaking his head.