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My parents traveled back from Amsterdam with two pre-rolled joints to Oklahoma. They didn’t try to hide it, or even think to be concerned, they just kept them in a Ziploc bag in their suitcase, I’m guessing next to the Ziploc bag of hotel bath soaps because you know – parents. I can’t imagine how nervous I would be in that situation, but to my parents, they were of the mindset that they were bringing medicine back for my grandmother, whom was battling through an illness and our family was looking for anything to offer pain relief. To them they weren’t transporting a drug, they were bringing home medicine. It’s still cute to me though, they never thought to worry.

 

My dad went into what looked to be a nice dispensary in Amsterdam and asked for the, “Purest marijuana you have.” His thinking was that would mean the most organic and the healthiest choice. What the budtender heard however, maybe with all being lost-in-international-non-stoner-translation, is the flower with the highest THC content.

 

“He said it was 100% THC,” my father explained after the fact, not really knowing what THC means or the fact that “100% THC” doesn’t exist in flower. We later found out on a discarded label that is was close to 40% THC, which is still to this day the strongest I’ve seen.

 

A few days after my parents were back home, they asked me to test out the “joint” (they had a lot fun saying that) before they gave it to my grandmother. Ten times, maybe, is how much I had smoked over the past ten years, but I felt up to the task – only being unnerved by the fact I was going to be smoking pot in front of my parents for the first time.

 

We sat on the back porch, and me wanting to show off, I took the pre-roll, lit it up and puffed away like a magic dragon. My mother even said, “Shouldn’t you just take a hit or two?”

 

“Oh mother, you’re so silly. This is my world. I know what I’m doing. You might have accidentally smuggled drugs across countries but just watch and learn,” I said, as the joint hung from my lips and I took a sip of wine ala Kramer style.

 

Three minutes passed. “WHAT?” I scream-asked. My parents looking blankly back at me. Then I heard something inside the house. Needed to go check that out. I checked it out. Nothing. Back outside. My parents were laughing, I joined in, but very loudly. “DO YOU ALL HEAR SOMETHING?”

 

I went back inside. Nothing. I need water. I turned the corner fast, even though I thought I was moving soooo slooww (say that in slow mo with me) and ran directly into the kitchen island. My rib cage screamed. After a few steps I made it around the next corner and fell face down into the carpet. I couldn’t move. Face actually down into the carpet. You never realize how nice and comforting having your weightless head face down in the carpet is until you have your weightless head face down in the carpet. Dog hair though.

 

My parents rushed in, but my mother, unbeknownst to me, decided to try, responsibly, one puff. When she saw me on the floor, she was doing everything she could to make sure I was okay, but also couldn’t stop laughing, which then made my dad start laughing uncontrollably. I couldn’t laugh because my face was in the carpet. Because this is my world. I know what I’m doing.

 

They eventually got me to bed, and the next day I had to go to the doctor to find out I broke two ribs. How did I break them? By slipping on a piece of ice in the kitchen. That is the story everyone who doesn’t know this real story, like most of my family, has been told over the past five years. Sorry fam! But still, rouge ice is a real thing.

 

Marijuana and me (which is not a sequel to “Marley and Me” that I know of) now have a wonderful relationship and it’s a pretty big part my life. However, that relationship had to start like dating, I had to form it and become comfortable with it.

 

Needless to say: Always listen to your mom. You don’t ever know as much as you think you do. If you were having your first drink ever, would you chug a bottle of Jack Daniels? No. Test the water before you do a cannonball to avoid momentary freak outs that don’t at all represent the powers of the flower. Also – ice cubes.