...and it's my son. He walked in tonight, stood in the middle of the living room floor, and grinned at me. I love him so much, and I was so happy that he had returned home safely, but my heart sank. He reeked of cigarettes. I mentioned it to him and his face fell, and the moment changed from happy quiet loving moment to the usual Mommy haranguing and son stalking off to his room.
I don't know what to do about it. Ben has just turned 17. His father and I are both smokers, and our GP says, "Monkey see, monkey do!" Very helpful. What is it with doctors and homilies? My sister the geriatrician has washed her hands of us all, saying, "I just figure you'll get sick and tired of being sick and tired."
It's so weird to be a parent knowing that your child is like you in bad ways as well as good ones. This whole smoking thing creates a farrago of emotions and uncertainty. Smoked Benjamin is a pretty bitter dish for his parents. If anyone has any useful ideas, let me know.
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