I only recently found out my father had smoked a pipe in his young days (he claims even in HS) when he saw some of my pipes. They're not kept out in the house, but rather in garage, shop, etc. so he didn't know I had pipes for a while...
He left that day with a bent billiard from Netherlands, a baggie full of Carter Hall, a tamper and some pipe cleaners. He's not picked it up on his own time yet but has come back twice more and we've had a pipe together on the porch, on a little walk, shooting the breeze.
It's a delight I never dreamed I would get to enjoy. I had concern of lots of judgement so hadn't mentioned my activities. Such a pleasant surprise.
He's 83. The first time he put that pipe in his mouth and fired up with me, he said: "I forgot how pleasant this is!"
Update: Dad loved it. Mom ran us off to the basement to share a Xmas Smoke. I snuck a pic of his inaugural puff. That’s my meer in the foreground, & pops breaking in his new Peterson in the background.