This is the second in a series of posts commemorating my fortieth birthday.
I got caught smoking in second grade. My mortified mother cried as her haphazard spanks landed mostly on the back of my knees: "Don't! You! Ever! Do! That! Again!..." My father's response was more subdued; he was, after all, the smoker in the house. He suggested that he would buy me cigarettes if I truly needed them, but that hiding such things from Mom and Dad was the real problem.
By high school, I was
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