What Hurts Daddy?

“I HATE CIGARETTES!”

That’s just about as subtle as I can be on the subject.

So of course, when my wife found a cigarette in our teenage son’s room, I felt justified in acting like an idiot.

After all:

I know the health statistics; he doesn’t.
I saw people die from smoking; he didn’t.
I led private and corporate smoking cessation seminars;  he didn’t.
I was exposed to a western anti-smoking media blitz; he wasn’t.

So I planned a strategy that would be full proof; a zealous crusade to save my dear son. I didn’t know it yet, but my zealotry was nothing more than a thinly veiled attempt to manipulate my son into being the person that I want him to be.

Starting before he left for Yeshiva in the morning (6:30am) and from the moment he returned at night (9:15pm), I began to bombard him with all of the mortality statistics, anti-smoking pictures and frightening stories that I could find. He literally got up and went to sleep with me in his face; ranting and raving about the evil habit and the peers who had influenced him to smoke in the first place.

To my utter amazement, he still wouldn’t stop.

I was incredulous… beyond rage.  How ironic, that despite having worked with hundreds if not a thousand smokers, I was failing so miserably with my own son. I agonized further:

“Why didn’t he come to me…now he was hooked..…I thought we had a great relationship… why didn’t he let me help him.”

My mind raced:  “if he’ll defy me to smoke, what else will he defy me to do?”

Lucky for him I’m not a single parent. My wife and I sat down. She said: “You know, you’re going to have to back off. You’re only making things worse with your tirades.  Zev, you know he’s a great kid. So he’s smoking a little.”

 I couldn’t believe my ears. My blood pressure surged.  “So he’s smoking a little?” I repeated back (raising the volume a bit).

 “Look Zev. He is going to stop, but not because you demand him too. We’re in Israel now. It’s just a fact that he sees a lot of his friends smoking.  As long as you stay angry at him you can forget about having any part in the solution.  Do me a favor and from now on, just stay out of it. Leave it to me!”

I knew that she was right. I (the big smoking expert) was nothing but an impediment.

So I kept my mouth shut and he stopped the next day!

Shabbat came, and I started to calm down.  But I was still uneasy about the way that I had behaved.  I went outside to check in with Hashem:

“Hashem, what happened here?  It was so out-of-character for my son to smoke cigarettes.  I must have done something to displease You. Please help me to see what’s going on.  I know that You were telling me something, but the sound of my own will, once again drowned out Your message. I’m sorry.  Show me, please, what I need to learn from this.” 

I walked back home feeling better.  Coming into the living room, I saw my son sitting on the couch. He’s 16.

Smiling warmly, he said “Tatti (father), can we talk?”

Humbled but relieved I said: “Sure.”

“Did mommy tell you that I stopped smoking?”

“Yes, she did.”

“And do you know why I stopped Tatti.”

“No I don’t.”

“I didn’t want to smoke in the first place, but once I started, it was hard to stop. Half my class smokes. I only had two or three a day. I really did try to stop but I couldn’t.”

“That’s OK, I understand.”

“But if it’s so hard to stop smoking how can you be sure that you’re finished with them now?”

“Tatti, now that you’re not so angry, I’m sure I can stop, because I see how much it hurts you for me to smoke.”

“I’m sorry, for the way that I handled this too, son. I want you to know how much nachas (loving pride) I get from you.  I thank Hashem every day for giving me a son like you.”

As time went by, I realized that my concern about what others thought about ME having a kid who smokes was at least equal to or greater than my concern about his health.  It didn’t fit into my image of the Torah Scholar that I want my son to be or the type of shidduch (marriage) I hope for him to get.

I now see that my fears (which were unfounded) were also quite selfish. Perhaps all fears are selfish because they lead to a preoccupation with ME, ME, ME. It would be much better, next time, if I could focus, as my wife did, on my son’s needs and on serving Hashem.

Thank G-d I finally got the message.

Since my pride was my stumbling block, here, I hope that my writing about it openly will be pleasing to Hashem.

When I asked my son for his permission to print our story, he asked me:

“Tatti, will this help other fathers to treat their sons better?”

“I sure hope it will, son.”