When not haunted by the need to achieve popularity among peers, many problems disappear or simply fail to exist. Friendships are realistic interactions of individuals rather than acts performed to satisfy the specific requirements of a group. Because it was more important to be myself and follow my own beliefs, "peer pressure" had no affect on me. If I was to be ostracized for refusing to go along with another's idea, no friendship existed and I could easily walk away. Aloneness, for me, was no problem; compromising my standards, however, was a problem. Generally, I never experienced pressure from a group or an individual to do something about which I had already expressed a negative opinion. Perhaps the knowledge that further prompting would have no effect on my stance impeded harassment of any kind. I was free, imprisoned by no ideas but my own; I bothered no one, and received the same respectful treatment. I recall a day in which three classmates and I were shopping at a drug store when one suddenly decided to buy a pack of cigarettes, giving the cashier an assuring, "They are for my Dad," in response to the skeptical appraisal of my friend's age. Wordlessly, the woman accepted the money and bagged the cigarettes. My friend smiled heroically as the four of us ushered from the store. After obtaining a book of matches, we strode down to the woods behind my house and followed the trails until we were deeply beneath the cover of the leaves and beyond all source of detection. The pack was opened with the gleeful anticipation which only came with the breaking of a rule. Two girls eagerly lit up and puffed smoke into the clear air. The pack was presented to me. "No thanks," I shook my head. I had no desire to start a habit which not only was a risky endeavor in terms of maintaining health, but also reeked in an offensive manner. "Besides," I thought, "it doesn't even look cool." I envisioned a woman with a white stick drooping out of the corner of her mouth and an old man sucking pathetically on the smoking stub of his cigarette. "You sure?" someone asked, offering the pack again. "No thanks," I replied and started walking toward home. One of the girls joined me, and, as if we had been unexplainably spooked, ran back through the woods to my yard. Out of breath, but glad to be rid of the odor of the cigarettes, we stood silently below the house and waited for the other girls. Upon reaching the top of the hill, the two asked why we ran. Bending the truth, my friend said, "We thought we heard someone yelling for us..." Personally, I don't know why I ran. My refusal and dismissal of the scene had been sufficient, for I had felt no antagonism from my companions; yet, beneath the canopy of leaves, I felt trapped and scrutinized by unseen eyes. Flight seemed to be the natural course of action. If my tactics failed and I was repeatedly urged to do something that I had no intention of doing, I too, would use "Mom" as