Father always likes to blow a hazy veil in the afternoon breeze. When the afternoon sunshine wandered on the carpet through the window, he put on a gentle and quiet music with an idyllic flavor, made a cup of mellow and refreshing strong tea, lazily lay on the soft sofa, tapped the coffee table with his fingers, made a rhythm coordinated with the music in the fresh and pleasant smell of new tea in the room, and then lit a cigarette comfortably and used his mouth. Watching them spread freely everywhere, then disappearing, disappearing, until disappearing ... He also sipped tea from time to time, letting the cool fragrance enter his throat from his mouth and spread all over his body. ...

My mother said that my father's smoking posture is very beautiful. My father held the cigarette in his fingers, slowly closed his eyes, took a sip, then slowly spit out the smoke ring, and then gently flicked off the ash with his index finger ... Sometimes my mother herself would be addicted to my father's smoking posture, but my mother knew medical knowledge very well. She understands the dangers of smoking. She never encourages my father to smoke, even if his posture is intoxicating. But my mother never forced my father to give up smoking. She always looks for some articles about smoking from some books and magazines, takes the bait, highlights the key points, folds a corner of the book and puts it on her father's bedside, but her father never cares, just turns it over and puts it aside, and then says in an understatement, I have read it, but actually I have understood it. Mother always smiles, and then puts a stack of books the next day.

I don't like my father smoking. I can't imagine that my father's teeth will turn dark yellow because of smoking in a few years. I can't imagine that my father's body will become weak and heartless because of smoking in a few years. Originally healthy lungs will turn black, and I don't like the suffocating smell. How many times, I hid his cigarette, quietly watched him go through all his pockets anxiously behind the door, looked around aimlessly, and then drank tea in disappointment. How many times, when I saw my father fidgeting, I deliberately put the cigarette somewhere for him to "find" and then watched him smoke happily. How many times, when I smelled the suffocating smell, I slapped my hand hard, I couldn't help it, and then I scolded myself and hated my heart.

Grandpa doesn't like his father smoking either. Grandpa hates smoking and makes him sick. After a serious illness, he decided to give up smoking. He deeply understood that smoking is a demon who kills people without seeing blood. He always told his father that I was needed for work. But you usually smoke that much. Somebody else's cigarette factory also printed "smoking is harmful to health" on the cigarette case! I won't stop you from doing good. ...

My father began to waver. I saw that his left hand holding a cigarette was put down for a while, then raised to his mouth, and his right hand pressed the lighter switch and slowly put it down. Then he frowned, sighed lightly, put down his cigarette and went to the balcony to play with those flowers and plants. I can see my father's determination and understand his feelings.

Since then, my mother has brought back bags of snacks from the supermarket every day, saying that they were for my father when he was addicted to smoking; Grandpa got some plastic sticks the size of cigarettes from somewhere, saying that to quit smoking, we must first quit "hand addiction" and "mouth addiction"; Father gave all the cigarettes to his colleagues and put the lighters and candles together. In the future, he can only use it when the power goes out.

Now, my father still likes to make a cup of tea in quiet and soothing music in the warm afternoon sunshine; Lying on the sofa, drinking tea from time to time, just miss the cigarettes in my hand, just miss the coils of cigarettes above. ...

But my father's healthy smile tells me that he has gained a lot instead of losing it. ...