Second Hand Smoke...

    When I was a kid Sundays were often spent going for a "drive". Usually short trips to Sasamat Lake or into Vancouver to stare at the hippies and visit Stanley Park. We had a brown Ford Ranch Wagon station wagon, Sis and me in the back and Ma and Pa in the front. Both of my parents were smokers and I remember Mom telling us to keep the"windows rolled up back there" so we wouldn't catch cold. In the meantime we could barely see out of the windshield or breath from all the smoke. Dad would hold his cigarette between his fingers on the steering wheel an the nicotine would literally run down the windshield. My sister and I would have the windows rolled down just a crack, noses pressed against the glass sucking in the cool air. Some Sundays I would hear the dreaded words," We're going to Bellingham." This meant a two hour drive each way with a lengthy border crossing in between and the thought of breathing the even stinkier American cigarettes... yikes ! I howl to myself about this now with all the "second hand smoke" consciousness. I know my folks didn't mean any harm, they just didn't know any better and I turned out okay... I think.