The complex relationship between fathers and sons is often painted in strokes of shared experiences, life lessons, and sometimes, unspoken habits. In many families, the shadow of smoking has loomed large, impacting health, relationships, and memories. While the question “Did Peter Jennings Smoke?” might pique curiosity about a public figure’s personal habits, it opens a broader conversation about the impact of smoking across generations. This story, originally shared by Chris Jennings about his own father, offers a poignant look at one family’s journey with smoking, quitting, and the evolving bond between father and son.
Family lore in our house held that when I was a young boy, around seven years old, and my sister a couple of years older, we were the catalysts for our father’s first serious attempt to quit smoking. Truthfully, the memory is hazy. I simply recall a time when cigarettes were a constant presence, and then, suddenly, they weren’t. He achieved over a decade of smoke-free living, a testament to his willpower, only for the habit to resurface later, intertwining with my own burgeoning smoking years.
That initial foray into quitting involved a visit to a hypnotist in Boston. For smokers, the idea of a “last cigarette” carries significant weight, often imbued with a false sense of finality. My father recounted his pre-hypnosis ritual: a frantic consumption of Dunhill cigarettes during the drive to Boston, a desperate attempt to stockpile nicotine for the perceived drought ahead. Whatever transpired in that Boston office – perhaps the stereotypical swinging pocket watch and whispered suggestions of becoming “very sleepy” – it worked. He entered a two-pack-a-day smoker and emerged a champion gum chewer, the smoky aroma of tobacco replaced by the spicy scent of Big Red cinnamon gum. This dramatic shift underscored the powerful hold nicotine had, and the lengths one needed to go to break free.
Years later, when I turned eighteen and had been secretly indulging in cigarettes for about four years, my father and I embarked on our annual canoe trip in the Quebec wilderness. Paddling through interconnected lakes, we engaged in the kind of expansive, philosophical debates that characterized that period of our lives. It was during my late teens that a significant realization dawned: my father was not just a parental figure, but an individual with his own distinct tastes and perspectives, remarkably similar to my own. The rigid roles of teacher and student, provider and dependent, began to soften. We started to connect as two adults, each with their own curiosities and insights. This unexpected discovery of each other, as if we were meeting for the first time despite years of shared history, was exhilarating for both of us. While the notion of parents and children as friends was somewhat foreign in our family dynamic, those years forged a bond of confidants between my father and me. A period of mutual respect and understanding blossomed, enriching our relationship until his passing and providing both of us with immense joy and confidence.
Image alt text: A father and son paddle a canoe on a clear lake, reflecting the evolving relationship discussed in the context of smoking habits and family dynamics.
On the first day of our canoe trip, as afternoon approached, we navigated a narrow channel and emerged onto Lac Vert, a vast lake with a granite bed and water so transparent that fish were visible depths below. We circumnavigated the lake’s edge, scouting for ideal campsites, eventually choosing a small, rocky island, hoping its isolation might deter unwanted bear encounters.
After setting up camp and enjoying a hearty meal of fried eggs, I reached for a crumpled pack of Winstons from my jeans and casually offered one to my dad. He paused, his gaze shifting between me and the cigarette pack, before seemingly recognizing his part in the unspoken exchange I had initiated. With a subtle nod – a silent acknowledgment of partnership – he accepted a cigarette. He lit it using a strike-anywhere match I offered, which thankfully ignited on the first attempt. Holding the cigarette between his lips, he produced a slender pewter flask and offered me a sip of pocket-warmed vodka. We stretched our damp feet towards the crackling fire and leaned back, smoking in comfortable silence, perhaps a little intoxicated by the sheer, absurd masculinity of the moment. This shared cigarette wasn’t just about nicotine; it was a symbol of a changing dynamic, a father and son connecting on a new, more equal footing, even through a habit that carried known health risks. Just as curiosity might lead someone to ask, “Did Peter Jennings smoke?” – seeking insight into a public figure’s life – this moment offered a glimpse into the private world of a father and son, navigating their relationship amidst the smoke and embers of a campfire.
Image alt text: Father and son sharing a cigarette by a campfire at Lac Vert, illustrating a moment of connection and shifting roles in their relationship, relevant to discussions about smoking and family.
