Kicking the habit...

 Reminiscing about dolls yesterday reminded me of another incident from my childhood that I want to share.  When my younger brother (not my west coast aka baby brother, but the one who was two years younger than me) was almost eight years old and I was ten he was still sucking his thumb.  It was his left thumb and he had quite a callous on it.  I don't think he sucked it at school, or if he did he was large enough that nobody picked on him about it.  This was during the era of Roy Rogers and the Lone Ranger ("Happy Trails" and "Hi Oh Silver, Away") on the radio, and my brother and the neighbor boy and I played cowboys and Indians (please don't be offended, we didn't call them Native Americans back then) in the orchard located conveniently half way between our two houses.  The trees were old and gnarly and very easy to climb.  I, being the oldest, usually got to figure out the story line and frequently played the starring role.  I especially like being the Indian princess, but sometimes I was Dale Evans.  The only thing lacking were guns.  My mother was really opposed to guns of any sort, but that didn't stop us.  We crafted pistols out of sticks or clothes pins.  Finally my mother realized she was fighting a loosing battle but decided to use her capitulation to her advantage.  She made a deal with my brother. It was spring, school was out for the summer and his birthday was coming up in July.  She told him that if he would stop sucking his thumb he would get a set of two cap pistols with fancy belt and holsters for his birthday.  His dream come true.  You have never seen a child kick a habit so quickly and so completely.  It should be so easy for smokers.