I grew up for 15 years in a smokers household. There was always an ashtray around. One on our dining room table where he would light up with his coffee. In the living room and in his van. Id look at smoking with young eyes seeing his cartons on top of his dashboard and on top of the fridge . I would see him smoking with his friends and thought that it was a common thing to do. Daddy made it cool or at least he tried. He would make it a remedy for settling his nerves or for soothing an earache he would blow smoke into my ear whenever I got one did it help much no.  I never liked watching him hack and spit out phlegm I never asked questions I only wanted him to quit and when the product "cigarest" came out he did. I was happy for him and grateful that I didn't have to breathe in all of that second hand smoke I can still see it floating around the house . A few years past and I fell in with the wrong crowd and learned how to smoke myself someone taught me how I was 17. I would sneak them around my Mom and Dad and by hiding in alley's when I turned 18 I bought my first pack it was a pack of Marlboros the exact kind my father would smoke Id try to hide it from him but wasn't successful. I smoked off and on trying different brands along the way. I quit for my first pregnancy and smoked through the other and to this day I am dealing with that guilt . My marriage was falling apart from his Dad and I was depressed but I shouldn't have took it out on my baby I was fortunate that he was healthy and didn't have a low birth weight. I know that he knows what I did and he has every right to question me and I will answer because there is no excuse. I continued to smoke in spite of that I enjoyed it I would go out quite a bit and smoke and drink. I've burnt holes in my clothes, holes in my car, and singed my own hair. My hacking and coughing kept me up at night. I couldn't catch my breath at times and would wheeze my medication at one time made me quit ( to be continued in Part 2.)