The Tree

I loved that tree.

It was tucked away in the back corner of the small parking lot of our apartment. About 4 feet up from the bottom, the tree split into 2 large trunks. It created a great place to sit and just hang out. We could climb along one of the trunks that jutted out on an angle. We could fearlessly climb the branch until our nerves would tell us to stop.

Just a few feet away from the base of this old tree was the garbage bin for the nine-unit apartment we lived in. Recycling wasn’t even thought about in the late 60’s and early 70’s so that bin became quite full at times. Except for the year a cat died under the bin, the smell never bothered us. We simply didn’t care. Our excitement about playing on and around that tree made us oblivious to the fact that a pile of garbage was encased only a few feet away.

It was a place I could go to be by myself or with friends – just to be a kid. It was also the place where I would eventually sneak cigarettes.

Smoking

I started smoking in the early 70’s. My friend Bill and I would hustle up 55 cents to buy a pack of king size cigarettes. There was no age restriction to buy smokes. Many times I was sent to the store to buy smokes for my mom. The challenge for Bill and I was how to find the necessary 55 cents. We usually managed to pull it off.

When we first started, we would have a smoke or two in the stairwell of my apartment building. It seemed like no big deal. But it seemed like we weren’t doing it right. Then it dawned on us that we were not really inhaling. We then realized what we had to do. Sitting on the staircase between the second and third floor of the apartment, I lit up a cigarette with the conviction I was going to do this right.

After a couple of non-inhaling puffs, I did it. I inhaled the smoke for the first time. It didn’t go well. Not surprisingly, I coughed and hacked – nearly throwing up. So I gathered all the wisdom of the 12-year-old and inhaled again. The coughing spree wasn’t as dramatic as the first time and it progressively got easier.

Since my mom smoked and it was quite normal to do so in houses and apartments, she would never be able to smell it off of me.

I was cool … yet not very smart.

Burning Lesson

One evening when I was 12 years old, I was in the backyard hiding behind my favourite tree. For years it was the place I would climb, but now I discovered more uses for it – a place to hide behind to have a smoke. My mom called me in for supper and I just bellowed back “in a minute”. After all, I had to finish the cigarette. A moment or two later, she called out again and I bellowed back.

This intermittent exchange went on for a few minutes. I was almost done the cigarette when I saw my mom come around the corner of the apartment building toward me with a blazing look of intolerance. Holy shit, what was going to do with that cigarette? Using the same wisdom I demonstrated when inhaling for the first time, I did the one thing that made the most sense. I put the lit cigarette in my pants pocket.

It hurt.

My shock and stress of being yelled at and led upstairs by my mom were intensified by the burning cigarette in my pocket. It went out quick enough, but not before burning a hole in the inside of my pants pocket and causing a small burn on my leg.

I learned that day that I needed to be more careful and sneakier with smoking. I also learned that putting a lit cigarette in your pocket is a bad idea. I was to learn many more lessons for years to come and I am glad to say that no other lessons involved burning skin.

Memory Lane

My daughter likes me to take her on tours of my old stomping grounds. I took her to that apartment and we went into the backyard. Sadly, my favourite tree was gone. I quietly hoped that it had made friends with other kids like it did with me.

With a smile on my face, I said a silent thank you to the shadow of the tree I could see, but my daughter couldn’t. Thank you for being there when I wanted to play and get away. Thank you for being home base for hide and seek. Thank you for the memories.

I then held my daughter’s hand and went home – where a whole new set of memories are being created.