I Spent My Whole Life Around Smokers — Here’s Why I Don’t Judge Them
<p>When I was twelve years old, I was up around 10 p.m., past my allotted bedtime, watching <em>George Lopez</em> and laughing at various jokes in the comedy. My brother gave me a routine call. He just got out of class at the local commuter’s college, and it was late at night. The walk back home had no shoulder on the road, and he needed a ride. My mom wasn’t home, but my dad was. I knocked on my parents’ door to ask if they could give my brother a ride from school.</p>
<p>I knocked on the door, and there was no response. The light was on, so I barged in. I saw my father keeled over on the side of the bed. He said he couldn’t breathe. I was only twelve, but I could tell something was wrong. I asked if I should call 911, and he softly muttered that I should.</p>
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