Addiction

ESPN's Page 2 had a tribute to Len Bias today. All three articles were well done and challenging. You should read them. (I am not going to link to them, because they will change tomorrow. Go to Page 2 and find them yourself. No one will read them anyway.)


I do not remember Len Bias. I was five years old.

I do remember my grandfather.

My grandfather never said "thank you." He never said "sorry." He never had to. He did right. When you do right "thank you" and "sorry" make no sense. When you do right everyone appreciates your honesty.

I do not know if it was the Depression or World War II, but my grandfather was tough. He decided after WWII he could never work for anyone else. He started a trucking company. He had three sons, one before the war, two after the war. His wife was stricken with cancer when the youngest was six. He spent his limited fortunate trying to save her; he failed. He worked. He created new businesses. He made enough money. No adversary could stop him. He went through anything preventing his family's happiness. At seventy-two he still drove a truck. A six-foot four biker parked behind his truck while he was backing up. He jumped out ready to fight calling the biker every name in the book. He will be eighty-five in July. He is still mean and willing to fight. He is by far the toughest man I know.

He had a heart attack at seventy-five. The doctors told him to quit smoking. Sixty years of smoking had ruined his circulation. We thought he licked smoking like he had licked everything else. My family never saw him smoke for six months. He told everyone he quit smoking.

One afternoon I was standing at the screen door. My grandfather pulled into the driveway. He could not see me. But I saw him smoking a cigarette. I knew then, anything that powerful, anything powerful enough to make my Granddady lie and hide like a boy, could not be worth a damn. It was sad. I never told anyone, but in a month, his habit was in the open.

I do not care if smoking caused my grandfather's current health problems. I do not care what difference quitting smoking at seventy-five would have really made. Like my grandfather, I do not blame other people for my problems. I "do not back up when I could go forward." But I do not smoke.

I know cocaine and cigarettes are different. I know those same addictive qualities that kept my grandfather hooked on nicotine were part of his success. But every addict has to eventually face his addiction.