I was born in 1927 to a coal miner back up in one of the hollows of West Virginia. I had sporadic schooling at best.
I had my first cigarette when I was 10 years old. We rolled our own since "tailor-mades" were so expensive. Nobody ever said anything about us youngsters smoking back then.
I was married when I turned 12 to a young man named Jim. He was 21. He worked the mines with daddy.
I was expecting my first child when there was an explosion at the mine. My man and daddy both were killed that day. I was 13 then.
Momma and us girls took in odd washing and sewing. I had a son 4 month after the explosion. He only lived a few hours.
I got married again a couple of years later when I was 15. Bob was a miner also. We had three boys and 2 girls over the next 8 years. In 1950 a coal shelf collapsed on Bob and crushed his chest. He was gone before they could dig him out of the rubble.
I married the last time in 1954. William worked in a factory. He was offered a position in North Carolina.
Two of my boys went to that war in Asia and were killed over there. Peter was shot and Jim Jr. was blown up in a mortar attack. I still don't like wars.
David, Mary, and Elizabeth all married and moved away. They gave me 7 grandchildren between them.
David was killed in an auto accident in 1978. A drunk driver hit his car head-on. His two sons were with him and died also. I still have his little girl to treasure when I get to see her.
William died in 1994 of Lung Cancer. They told him he had it in March and he was gone by September. That October I stopped smoking.
I didn't have any gums or such. I just stopped. Every time I thought about smoking a cigarette, I thought of my dear William and lost that thought quick.
After a bit, I didn't miss the smoking as much. Over the years it has become a habit to remind myself that those things are the killers that took my dear William.
I met Larry a few years ago at the market when he was here in his truck.
My girls got me a computer and taught me how to use it. Larry called me and told me about this site he found after he had his surgury. He thought maybe I could help others if I came here. He is the one that suggested I call myself The Old Goat. I kind of liked the thought since I was so old.
I live alone now. The girls come visit when they can, and some of the neighbors stop in a lot.
Since I am now close to 88 years old, I get tired really easy. The damage to my lungs doesn't help much.
I think that is enough about me. I didn't ever mean to get so long-winded about all this stuff.
Please take advice from this old woman and keep those killer sticks away from your face.
Take care of yourselves.
Joan
