I’ve noticed that I carry around a set of stock smart aleck comments that I use as situations arise. One is for when a friend lights up a cigarette, and I wisecrack, “Oh, did you hear those are bad for you?” Funny, huh?

Actually, I am sympathetic to smokers; they don’t have many friends left. I smoked for a few years when I was younger. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I don’t know much about the chemicals involved, something to do with nicotine fitting perfectly in receptors in our brain. I do know there was something soothing about the smoke. Beyond that I have fidgety hands, and a cigarette felt right between my fingers.

I wasn’t one of the “toughs” who smoked because it expressed an attitude. Rather, on the opposite end of the social spectrum were the “artsy” people. I fancied myself one of them. I grew a beard and owned a sleeveless sweater. Truth-be-told I was a faux-artsy person. But I enjoyed coffee and a cigarette with friends talking about important things.

Bars were basically smoking lounges then, and cigarettes went quite well with a drink, too. In those settings, I doubt we talked about important things. Stupid things, more likely. Regardless, cigarettes were awfully easy to smoke back then.

In The World That I Grew Up In, lots of our parents smoked. They were the Greatest Generation. When they were young the military handed out cigarettes to soldiers, and college freshmen got free packs at orientation. Sadly, many of that vaunted generation left us early due to addictions that came with the handouts.

There were vague suspicions about their safety at the time. We came to find out that tobacco companies were suppressing information about the dangers of their product for decades. It was unconscionable and highly profitable. When I came of age, the evidence was out. I knew darn well they were bad for me. No excuses, I was just young and invincible.

When my wife became pregnant with our first child, I thought it time to let cigarettes go. Looking back, I realize how very, very lucky I was to be able to quit. We all have friends who battle this addiction/affliction for years. I did have one cigarette since. That was in a bar in Kansas City. I remember thinking, “I wonder what one would taste like after all this time?” It was wonderful, and I thought, “Oh, oh. That better end right here.”

We’ve made it awfully tough on the shrinking number of smokers. I know it’s good to discourage smoking, but maybe we’ve been a little too rough on them. Another of my smart aleck lines is to walk past the smokers outside a bar and say, “Hey, we banned smoking in Minnesota. You’ve got to go to Iowa to do that.” That may not be far from the truth in another legislative session or two.

Besides making it illegal to smoke just this side of everywhere, we tax the hell out of smokers. It is the most regressive tax we can institute. We all know smokers are concentrated among the people least able to pay those taxes. By setting them so high, we are absolutely taking away from food and housing budgets. In raising taxes on the people least likely to vote with the least resources, our legislators are at their scoundrelly worst.

I am a rare former smoker who doesn’t mind being around cigarette smoke. I think those receptors in my brain still miss their nic-fix and don’t mind getting it second hand. That said, I suppose we are better off with our bars and restaurants smoke-free. I say that begrudgingly since our small town bars took a hit when Minnesota’s “Freedom to Breathe” Act went into effect, and I am a fan of small town bars.

To this day, I think I could stop at Casey’s, plop down a ten for a pack of cigs, light it up, and enjoy that first puff. But I won’t. It comes down to statistics. Statistically each cigarette plucks a minute or two off the back end of one’s life. The few years I smoked lopped a month or two off already.

I have wondered why nature gives us this substance which harms us from the first puff. Most other bad habits begin benignly. A drink or two is healthy for you. You need food up to a point, unfortunately a point many of us go past. Sex, well, that’s fine in the right context. But that first puff on a cancer stick is damaging your lungs.

Why would the Creator put this addicting thing on the planet here with us weak-fleshed creatures? Add that to the long list of questions I want to ask in the hereafter. Speaking of the hereafter, I have a fantasy heaven in mind. This may not pass the muster theologically, but here goes:

After putting in my time in Purgatory, I get to the Pearly Gates. (For you non-Catholics, Purgatory is sort of probation where I’ll pay my dues for various and sundry misdeeds.) St. Peter comes to greet me, “Well done, faithful servant.” Then he offers me a pack of Kent Golden Lights.

I say to him, “Thanks, but aren’t these bad for me?” Pete replies, “Not to worry. Your heavenly body can’t be harmed any more.” As I pull one out, Pete gets out his lighter. Then he motions over to a grand pizza buffet. “And don’t worry about putting on weight. Can’t happen. We’re up here in the clouds after all. Don’t miss the cheesecake selection down there at the end.”

This is all perfect, but it’d be nice to have a beer to go with it. Pete reads my mind (of course) and says, “We’ve got all the Schell’s craft beers on tap.” Now I’m thinking life, or after-life, is about as good as it gets. Then I notice a couple TV’s above the bar. “I know I’m going to be worshipping God pretty much full time. But any chance I could catch a ball game?” “Oh sure,” Pete says, “And the Twins are in first place.” Heavenly.