The other night, while gathered around my mother’s butcher block in typical Sunday night dinner style, she commented on how tired I looked and that I had dark circles under my eyes. She then proceeded to get up, sneakily left the room, and returned with what I took to be a vitamin. “Here”, she said, as innocently as a cocaine king pin about to enlist his newest drug mule, “take this”. My mom, the woman who handmade all my baby food and fed us nasty organic granola bars before it was the thing to do, with the nurturing air of Mother Teresa, handed me the stinky green pill and a tall glass of water.
Being really the only drug free person in my debaucherous family, it has become somewhat a matter of pride for me and a running joke within my family, that I have never even smoked a cigarette. So as I felt the little green pill slide down my virgin throat, I noticed, rather suspiciously, a glint of evil trickery in my mother’s eyes. “Do you know what that was?” she said in a guilty whisper. “What?!” I responded, somewhat panicked now that I noticed her eyes were a bit glassy. “THC,” she said, which registered in my naive, drug free brain as something much worse. “You just gave me PCP!?? What the hell is that, acid??!!” And as I rushed past my chortling mother, determined to purge my body of the noxious drug before the hallucinations started, I realized that the universe had got it wrong. Though we were destined to be together, I clearly should have been the parent and she, the unruly child.