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Looking out my Backdoor: This week I started smoking again


Last updated 4/8/2021 at 8:35am

I used to have a photo of my Dad in his crisp uniform, just back from Overseas. “Overseas” is a lost word, known to us older folks. Dad was in the Army Air Force in WWII. I was eight months old when he got home. In the picture, Dad held me in one arm, me in my cloth coat with matching winter pants. In his other hand he held a cigarette. I don’t know what happened to the photo.

My Dad had smoked since he was eight years old, rolling corn silk out behind the barn. He lived in the Ohio River Bottoms, where tobacco fields grew the main cash crop. He quickly graduated to the real stuff....

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