I had a a wonderfully congenial Uncle Will. He was father's brother, a recent widower, and he came for a visit when we lived in Oviedo. I was seven or eight at the time and admired his love affair with life. He chewed on cigars and would tell tall tales ending with a humorous twist. One time after he left to go back to Tuscaloosa, I went into his room and found in the front of a dresser drawer a new, wrapped cigar he had left behind. There was nothing to do but to try that cigar out. Rather than chew on it, I lit it up. I suppose I turned several shades of green – at least that's how I felt. I never told my parents of this early excursion into adulthood.
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