Peanut Butter and Other Cancer-Causing Agents
I have to share this story. I was younger than five, so it's bound to be cute.
My parents were friends with Ron and Virginia Bird. My dad had gone to college with Ron and somehow Ron and Virginia ended up in Missouri near us. Virginia sewed with my mom, and she let me play at sewing with them. Ron told great stories, and I considered him my very good friend. They both laughed a lot, and mom laughed a lot when they were around, which made them practically perfect in my eyes.
Ron and Virginia smoked. My parents did not. This was not a big deal, except that I had been taught from my youngest days that smoking was bad and I shouldn't do it, ever. It was shocking to my childish mind that these wonderful grown ups, who I loved dearly, would do such a dastardly thing. I didn't like the way their house smelled, or the way their breath smelled, but I loved them.
At the time, I also loved peanut butter. Well, I still do, but that's not the point. My favorite mid-morning snack was to scoop up a spoonful of the crunchy, sweety-salty goodness and smack away at it. Mom would say, "Just a small spoonful," and so I would get a small spoon and heap it just as high as was possible according to the laws of physics. The Birds knew full well of my addiction.
One day when we went to visit Virginia, we found that Ron was home from work and sick in bed. While mom and Virginia visited in the living room, I trotted back to the bedroom to check in on my buddy, and say hello to him. That was sure to make him feel better! I remember climbing up on the bed and sitting next to him. I guess the thought must have occurred to me that he was probably sick because of the cigarettes, so I told him that smoking was bad for him, and that he shouldn't smoke because it caused cancer. I had no idea what cancer was, except that it was a terrible disease and one of the reasons to avoid cigarettes.
Bless his heart, trapped there in bed, sick as a dog and with some wet-nosed pup preaching to him, he just smiled at me and said, "Well, you know, peanut butter causes cancer, too."
I was stunned. My little world began collapsing in on me. I probably wanted to cry, but I screwed up my courage, and I remember clearly the promise I made to him. Imagine the voice of a little girl who couldn't say her "r"s very well at the time, as she solemnly promises, "Mistuh Buhd - if you'll give up cigawettes, I'll give up peanut buttuh."
Years later Ron did quit smoking, some time after Virginia succumbed to emphesema. He loved to tease me about giving up peanut butter, which I offered to do; a promise is a promise, after all. Dear friend that he was, he released me from my bond, much to my relief. I'm not sure I could have gone through with it.
