My First Cigarette

I received my first cigarettes around the time I got my first iron, stove, and refrigerator. This was the sixties, and the appliances were toys. The cigarettes were candy.

Looking back, I don't know what bothers me the most these days. The fact that I was being prepared for housework at such a young age, or that I was being prepared to smoke!

We see the commercial of the woman with the hole in her throat describing how as a young girl she was encouraged to light up. We also see her depicted as a young teen admiring herself in the mirror with a cigarette in her hands. I did this as an even younger child with the candy cigarettes!

I, like her, grew up in a different time. The adults around me smoked, drank more than twice a week, and kept guns under their beds. But also, the men wore suits on Sunday, we had family dinners often, and children were expected to be respectful to adults. We emulated adults but were careful not to cross the line. We knew not to look under their beds.

I was given candy cigarettes the way kids today are given chocolate bars. The adults figured kids wanted to act grown-up and this was one way to do it. Even with alcohol, there was a 'children's version' and it was a treat for me to order a Shirley Temple whenever we went to a restaurant that served liquor. 

I also remember my first adult drink... one that was offered and poured especially for me! I was around fourteen, and it was at my next door neighbor's house in South Los Angeles. 

Our neighbor, Miss Cassie, was an older woman, probably around 60 at the time. Her husband worked at night and slept during the day. He was off on Mondays and this was the only time we would see Miss Cassie leave the house - always riding with him. Even though she stayed inside, we figured she knew everything going on in the neighborhood because she was always peeking out of her window. 

Finally, one day my mom managed to catch Miss Cassie outside and introduced herself (that's how we found out her name). After awhile, Miss Cassie would come outside to talk to my mom and eventually invited her into the house. After that, about twice a week my mom would visit Miss Cassie and some afternoons she would bring me.

We would sit in the small, tidy, dark living room and 'chat.' The drapes were always drawn. We found out that Miss Cassie's husband worked at Chasen's... a famous Hollywood restaurant that was known for its delicious chili. Miss Cassie's husband always brought home plenty of Chasen's Chili and we would sit and eat it. The women discussed the goings-on of the neighborhood and I would sit and listen. (In those days, kids weren't allowed to join in adult conversations unless asked a question.)

Miss Cassie would "serve cocktails" as she called it, and one day, with my mom's permission, she offered me a glass of Scotch-on-the-rocks... their drink of choice. I felt so grown up and 'privileged' to be joining these women in their afternoon cocktail; however, one taste of the Scotch made me sick to my stomach. (I still get nauseated just thinking about it.) I refused Miss Cassie's offer of cocktails after that.

I'm not going to say I don't drink occasionally today, but I never became a heavy drinker or developed a taste for the hard liquors. I prefer mixed drinks (I love margaritas!) or wine. Strangely enough, I also like beer. (It was the bitterness of beer that turned a lot of kids against drinking.)

But... back to those candy cigarettes. Around the same time I was holding them and pretending to inhale, I also started developing an aversion to cigarette smoke. I hated being in smoke-filled rooms and eventually would cough when exposed to smoke. My mom quit smoking around this time, although it took my dad many more years to stop. He wouldn't smoke much in the house however and never in the car. Still... as an adult I developed asthma and I think all the smoke I was exposed to as a child and teen didn't help. The Los Angeles smog might have contributed also. 

I don't fault my parents or Miss Cassie for my early exposure to cigarettes and alcohol. It would have happened anyway... possibly in a worse environment. Maybe adults in those days knew this and this was their way of trying to control things. Like I said... it was a different time.

(first appeared in Huffington Post 2/1/11)

"Tootsie"

When I was a child in Oakland, before moving to Los Angeles at age ten, our next door neighbor was a woman everybody called ‘Tootsie.’  I never knew her real name, but I knew from listening to the adults around me that Tootsie was known to hit the bottle every now and then – like everyday!   Tootsie had ten children.  (Stairsteps, my mom used to call them because that was the phrase she used in those days for multiple siblings close in age.  Today she would call them the equality unpolitically correct phrase -- bananas.)  There was a ‘Mr. Tootsie’ who would show up every now and then, but, for the most part the children were on their own.  Their house was in disrepair and the kids didn’t always make it to school.

Tootsie pretty much kept to herself.  Sometimes when my mom was hanging clothes on the line, she would venture out to say hi.  They would chat and laugh for a few minutes and then Tootsie would return to her sanctuary.

Even though most of us were only one paycheck from abject poverty, there were those on our street who looked down on Tootsie and her brood.  Some of the neighbors wouldn’t allow their kids to play with Tootsie’s children, but my mom let me play with the ones closest to my age.   She also insisted I address Tootsie properly – calling her Mrs. Johnson.  (I think a couple of her kids had that last name.) 

Once I caught a real bad flu and was out of school for two weeks. Tootsie made sure one of her children would go to my class and get the homework for me.  I also remember when my grandfather died, Tootsie cleaned herself up and came over to pay her respect.  She even brought some food over, although everyone was afraid to eat it. 

There were other “Tootsies” that I came across in my Los Angeles area neighborhoods as I grew up.  Some had money, some were destitute.  I always remember my mother telling me that it is a gift to be able to relate to everyone – from a pauper to a prince.  That was the beauty of the neighborhoods I lived in.  There were all kinds of people from all walks of life.

Today, we try to keep our children away from the have-nots in life.   Our suburban neighborhoods are pretty homogenous, so our kids may never learn about “the other side of the tracks.”  Also, they may never come to understand the saying “There but for the grace of God go I.” 

Yet I’m sure that within our pristine, well-kept neighborhoods, there are Tootsies lurking behind closed curtains.  Sometimes we see them at the supermarket, or picking their kids up from school.  They are just waiting for a “Hi how are you?” or some acknowledgment that they exist.  Maybe, instead of judging them, we need to throw our arms around them and see what we can do to help.  Someone might have to do the same for us one day.

 (First published in 2007)