“I want you to know that I’ve been smoking pot,” Dad said on my first visit home from college. It was October 2002.
“Are we going to smoke together?” I said, excited at the prospect.
He pressed his lips up toward his nose and made his thinking face, and then started to nod.
“I would be willing to share my pot with you,” he said. I felt a little thrill: I was going to be the cool kid who smoked pot with her Dad.
That night Dad packed his little wooden pipe and lit it with a match ...