Smokin at the Boys Club
We are in the woods. Winter is fighting spring, and losing the battle. There is a chill in the air, but there are signs of rebirth on the trees that surround us, and provide cover. I am with Jonathon and Gershon. We have formed a BBQ club, and cook our food on a small hibachi, using branches from the woods that surround us for fuel for the fire.
The food inside the building is as bad as anywhere I have ever eaten; outside, we eat like kings. Hamburgers and hot dogs, with the occasional steak or chicken thrown on. School rules require us to sneak out one at a time into our hideaway. There are others in the woods too, rival clubs, but on the same side as we are in our rebellion against Yeshiva.
It is time to bentch, and Jonathon takes out a cigarette. It is not the first time he has smoked out one of our meetings. In fact, it has become a tradition that he light the cigarette and smoke through bentching.
Today is different, though. I am sick of Ner. I am ready to graduate and tired of all the bullshit that comes with being in Yeshiva. I ask him for a cigarette, which he is happy to give to me. I am seventeen, smart enough to know better, but as they say, too young to care.
Years later, when I run into Jonathon at Center Island in Toronto, I intorduce him to my wife as the guy who gave me my first smoke.
A pattern started to form. Whenever I was feeling angry, or frustrated with Yeshiva, I would smoke. Maybe it was once a week. Probably less frequently than that. It didn’t change anything, although it did make me feel better.
It was not until the following August, at Mercaz, when AJ taught me how to inhale, that I found out I had been doing it wrong for all those months.
The food inside the building is as bad as anywhere I have ever eaten; outside, we eat like kings. Hamburgers and hot dogs, with the occasional steak or chicken thrown on. School rules require us to sneak out one at a time into our hideaway. There are others in the woods too, rival clubs, but on the same side as we are in our rebellion against Yeshiva.
It is time to bentch, and Jonathon takes out a cigarette. It is not the first time he has smoked out one of our meetings. In fact, it has become a tradition that he light the cigarette and smoke through bentching.
Today is different, though. I am sick of Ner. I am ready to graduate and tired of all the bullshit that comes with being in Yeshiva. I ask him for a cigarette, which he is happy to give to me. I am seventeen, smart enough to know better, but as they say, too young to care.
Years later, when I run into Jonathon at Center Island in Toronto, I intorduce him to my wife as the guy who gave me my first smoke.
A pattern started to form. Whenever I was feeling angry, or frustrated with Yeshiva, I would smoke. Maybe it was once a week. Probably less frequently than that. It didn’t change anything, although it did make me feel better.
It was not until the following August, at Mercaz, when AJ taught me how to inhale, that I found out I had been doing it wrong for all those months.
posted by Air Time at 3:57 PM
11 Comments:
Were the Kleins still the caterers at Ner when you were there? They were caterers at my family shul -- food was hit or miss.
That sounds about right, except the food was not hit or miss. It was purely miss.
It did teach me to appreciate the lowly ketchup and mustard sandwich.
and who knew all the fun you were able to have with "p'chah"? Those things could BOUNCE!
TP: would that be Beth Jacob?
Yup, Beth Jacob.
its scary to think of that first drag... as you do inhale and the smoke slowing fills yoru lungs throu young innocent lips. I remember the first one. I reamember inhaling and my sister gave me all this attitude cause she assumed i had been smoking for a while. I wasnt. My older sister gave me my first smoke. Now 11 years later. All I want is to not fend that smoke before breakfast, lunch, between meals and before bed. a club... at least it was...
If I remember, I mention to your friend that you gave me first one, too. He was so proud...
Hey, Orthomom, want to join a new clique?
We can call it "The Outsiders"
I don't remember my first smoke, but I do remember my first pack. I was constantly bumming from this one guy, convinced that I wasn't really a smoker as long as I wasn't buying. Well, I guess this guy started getting pissed that I was smoking him dry so one day after I asked for a smoke, he just took me by the arm and bought me a damn pack. As they say, it was downhill from there.
i don't remember my first pack, but I know it was in Israel.
Veev, you never smoked with me and Mori in the woods?
Looking for information and found it at this great site... »
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