They
smoked, and just about everyone we saw on a regular basis smoked. Pop had been smoking since before he was even
a teen, and told us stories about he smoked cornsilk as a boy. Mom had smoked
in defiance of Nanny, and some of their worst fights had been over it. Omi, and almost every aunt and uncle we had
on Pop’s side, smoked. The bowling alley Pop visited on Thursdays, the SMI
Christmas Party or Labor Day Picnic, every family gathering, was covered with a
hovering pall of smoke. Despite our
constant saturation we boys always found cigarettes distasteful and even
disgusting, and always tried to stay out of the worst of it. I remember I hated even having to touch them,
and I found the sound of ashes being ground out particularly grating, and the
awful smell of an ashtray being washed stomach-turning.
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