Reflections: Childish Things

Most of us, hopefully perhaps all of us, change immensely throughout our lives. Some equate this with maturing; as we grow older we become wiser, again hopefully. Corinthians 1 in the King James Version of the New Testament contains this well-known, somewhat weary sentence: “When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.” These words, as reported by Paul, are profound in their meaning, but we, of course, are generally very selective in our interpretation of them. Some of us shed the burden of their childish obsessions earlier than others. I prefer to think of obsessions as addictions.

I started smoking long before I earned money of my own and could afford to buy a packet of cigarettes. In any case, in those days, it was illegal for kids to buy ‘fags’ as we called them. It was a matter of finding an accommodating shopkeeper who was willing to break the law by providing us with our “fixes’”—a bit like drugs today, I imagine. The most I could ever afford were five Woodbines. As I grew older I graduated to exorbitant Black Russians but I don’t remember how much they cost. All I know is that I was willing to risk financial ruin to be able to cough my way through five a week.

I continued smoking after I got married and did not stop until I was forty, just before my working partner and dear friend Lars discovered he was dying of cancer. It started on the skin of his neck, ripped its way through his lungs, into his skeleton and finally his brain, which was the cruelest blow of all. His fine mind that had helped us produce best selling books was reduced to creating page upon page of a single word: typewriter, typewriter, typewriter, while all the time believing he was writing a new masterpiece.

I actually gave up smoking because I discovered I hated the taste, coughing and spluttering of the first cigarette every morning. Stopping was easy once I had made up my mind. Instead of coffee, which was always accompanied by a cigarette, I took to drinking a glass of tepid water, which I hated. I replaced pleasure with distaste. Even today, even though I have avoided lung cancer, I still suffer from my obsessive smoking and cannot be anywhere, inside or outside, with smoke in the air. I have an allergic reaction, become ill and do not recover until at least six weeks later. I still have, believe it or not, the framed-behind-glass cigarette with the admonishment “Break in Emergency” that my wife gave me.

Alcohol was a different matter, though it took quite a while for me to acquire the taste; even in my mid-twenties I preferred a glass of milk with my meal rather than wine or beer. And the strong stuff was anathema. Publishing is a notoriously alcohol-based profession but I was a late bloomer when it came to drinking. However, I soon made up for lost time. I no longer drink alcohol. It wasn’t a conscious decision; I just lost interest; perhaps I grew up and put aside some childish things. I have not been well lately, and my doctors in Sweden have spent an inordinate amount of time roaming around my body without finding much. My vital organs seem to be functioning well for my age so the ravages of cigarettes and alcohol have not affected me too much. In this world, as they say, there’s no justice; the Devil takes care of his own!

As for sex, well I’ll leave sex—one life’s great obsessions—aside for the moment and move on to religion, which, when you think about it, has a lot in common with sex: it’s obsessive, addictive, and seems to offer solutions to everything for some people. And when you come to think of it, they both rely on faith, devotion and trust lasting forever. Just the other day I had visitors at my door of the Jehovah’s Witnesses type. I always treat them with respect and am even a tiny bit envious of their blind faith, even though I do not share their views, and we had a nice conversation. I grew up in a very religious family; Chapel three times on Sunday; Methodist youth club every Tuesday; frequent social events each month; offered my life to Christ when I was 16 while kneeling on the carpet of our vicar’s living room floor; was even a Sunday School teacher, but I grew out of it.

And now, if I reach it, the next major event will be my eightieth birthday (if birthdays are major events) even though there is still a while to go, and I am free. Free at last, as they say, though I must admit that I never found my addictions inhibitive or my obsessions anything but enjoyable. In fact, I have reveled in my life and have no regrets. I believe I have used every year well, and to the fullest extent have enjoyed the successes, the satisfaction and the company of all the wonderful, fabulous people that fate and my chosen path have led me to.