Ironically, coincidentally, serendipitously — choose the word that best matches your view of fate — as if to comemmorate the anniverary of Anthony Edward Scudellari's birth, today I read that Governor Rod Blagojevich signed into law the Smoke-Free Illinois Act, which bans smoking in public places around the state begining next January (see Gov signs ban on smoking in public places from today's Chicago Sun Times)
I have many friends who smoke. I have relatives who smoke. I go to cafés and restaurants where I see smokers huddled outside doors, indulging their compulsions. I hang out in bars where I breath the emissions of 20-somethings who carelessly puff away at those leaves rolled with chemicals and toxins. I know the arguments well, having heard them flung my way like self-defending punches:
- "It's my life and my body, and I can do what I want with them."
- "We've all got to die of something ..."
- "The government can't tell me what to do."
- "I have a right to smoke where ever I want."
Forget all that, however, and take some simple words of advice from someone who spent long hours and days sitting at the side of his morphine-sedated father as he lay in a hospital bed dying an agonizing death. You don't want to die that way, and you don't want to put your own family through that much sorrow.
Photo credit: Gregory Maxwell, copyright 2005