When I was 11, our dad caught my brother Terry and me, with our cousin Freddy, smoking in our barn. Smoking in the haymow, about six feet away from bales of hay, didn’t set well with our father.
Dad and our uncle Fred quickly took us outside to see how fast loose hay burned. They also urged us to chew and swallow a cigarette. An upset stomach was a small price to pay for that lesson. By God’s grace, we avoided a fiery grave.
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