My Dad had a saying he used whenever he suspected the wool was being pulled over his eyes: “Never shit a shitter”.
As kids, we always think we’re smarter than our parents. We had this notion that all we did had never been done before. I know I possessed this attitude as a teen. My underdeveloped brain failed to consider the vast experience my Dad acquired while raising my three older brothers was far beyond any DEA training. There wasn’t much I could do that my brothers hadn’t already tried.
Dad always knew I was high. I would prepare my stoned self for contact with my Dad with the usual routine: Visine…check, Tic Tacs… check… alibi… check. Somehow Dad saw through my deception every time. No matter how many mints I ate, he could still smell that bowl I smoked two hours ago. I was floored that time Dad told me not to smoke joints with seeds in them because it was ruining all my shirts.
Or that time at 3 AM as I was tripping my socks off on mushrooms and laughing uncontrollably in the bathroom while looking at a crude drawing my little brother made. I don’t know how long my Dad was standing there in the doorway but when I eventually turned and saw him, he was actually smiling as he said with a nod “Good stuff, huh?”
One blustery Saturday I was bundling up to face the elements with a plan to meet my friends for a day of adventure. My Dad watched as I added layer after layer of protective gear. I could sense his prying observations as if he was scanning me with an X-Ray looking for contraband. After an uncomfortable silence my Dad offers: “Make sure you’ve got your hat and gloves, you don’t want to get cold when you’re outside getting stoned.”
I stood up to say something that would have certainly earned me a backhanded whack upside the head. I reconsidered, pushed my hat down and pulled my gloves on. For the first time I kept silent. He was right, of course.
From that day forward, anytime my friends and I would suit up for a bong session outside, one of us would have to say; “Don’t forget your hat and drugs.”