By: Rita Reefer
It was December 1997; I was a senior in high school and my birthday was right around the corner. I wanted to do something I’d never done before for my 18th birthday. I was a child that had done pretty much everything, so I wanted this year to be special.
I recall at a young child, age 3 or 4, my father had a routine for every sporting event, grab a drink and the remote, and pull his tray from under the couch to “Roll Up.” It was such a routine. I would grab his tray and hand it to him when I noticed a game was on. There was a time when my great-grandmother, his grandmother, was visiting and I grabbed the tray and all hell broke out. She didn’t know he smoked and he didn’t care that she knew, it was his house. All I know is, I never grabbed that tray if there was company around.
Around the age of 10, I started to realize my parents and their friends always disappeared into a bedroom, garage, or backyard whenever there was a party at our house. I knew they were not smoking cigarettes, but I was very unsure about what the smell was radiating from the bedroom. One day, I asked my mother what they were doing. Surprisingly, she told me they were “smoking weed”. I asked a series of questions and she did not hesitate to answer all my questions. I was lucky to have a mother that was and still is very open about life and her personal experiences. My mother also told me, “If you ever want to smoke, come to me, not your friends who know nothing about the real world and real life experiences”. That always stuck with me, so when I was ready to try alcohol, I asked my mother without hesitation. She would let me try different drinks she’d drink, Hennessy, wine coolers (kool-aid), E & J, etc., but I never really enjoyed alcohol.
It was a week or so before my 18th birthday, I had expressed to my mother that I wanted to smoke. She told me that she would smoke with me on my birthday. The morning of my big day, my mother had to make sure my younger brothers were off to school, and my dad had left for work. She came into my room and asked me was I ready. “Ready for what?” I thought, then she showed me the two joints in her hand and she told me to come to her bedroom. We sat on her bed and smoked…. I choked, got teary-eyed, choked some more, and fell asleep. When I woke up an hour or so later, she asked me how I felt? HUNGRY! She knew that was going to be my answer, so she already had tacos ready for me to eat. While enjoying tacos for breakfast, she asked me a series of questions, “Did you like it? How did it make you feel? Do you think you’ll do it again?” No, I didn’t like it, I don’t understand why people do this, it’s a waste of money and time if all you’re going to do is sleep or eat the high away. I never touched weed again until I turned 24.
January of 2003, a close friend of the family passed away, and her favorite pastime was to smoke weed. So, in her honor, I decided to try to smoke again with her daughter, sister, and a few other close friends. OH! MY GOODNESS!! This was a different experience for me. I’m not sure if it was the situation or if it was my calling, but I loved everything about smoking…. I loved the way my body felt, the way my mind thought, and the fact that I stayed hungry. After that day, I have been dedicated to smoking. But since I started smoking, weed has revolutionized. There’s brownies, cookies, candy, chips, ice cream, and even pizza. Who would have thought?! Boy, I have a few stories to tell about those damn brownies… You’ll have to catch me in the next edition to hear more.
