The start…

Our son has decided that smoking marijuana is a good thing. Part of me has been waiting for this sad day. It happened for me too, 40 years ago. The decisions made from that point on in my life lead me to compromise standards for school and sports, lie to parents and peers, steal. I compromised my passions and ability for sense of spiciness, a light headed high that became paramount to everything. There was alcohol too, first wine and beer proffered by my parents at the holiday diner table. That was allowed. Then weed and other drugs: white powder, first snorted then smoked. These are things I thought made me free. The very opposite occurred.

His transition to high school last year went all right. We were proud, he was making grades and has many friends. He has always been  a marginal student grade wise: “a ‘C’ is a darn good grade”. I am fine with that. We know he is smart. There are challenges too. He is young for his grade. There is a diagnosis for ADD. Symptoms I recognise in myself from that age in my life. The Adderall which changed him and he hated. The school decided to lighten his academic schedule. They have assigned a counselor to help him organize himself. He is required to attend a supervised study session with her each week.

Late fall the class skipping became daily. Ignoring school work; zero participation has lead to fails in every class. When confronted he becomes defiant. School is a bother. He claims this teacher does not like him; that teacher is boring.

Two weeks ago that marijuana smell permeated the first floor of our house. Brazen. Does he really think we won’t smell it or that we are liberal enough to accept it. There are two younger children in our house. This is NOT ok!

“Look it is legal” he shouts.

“No, no it is not. Your nine year old brother is across the hall” I reply.

“It’s not addictive” he states.

“That is is true somewhere else and it is not OK here in this state now. I would not endorse misery”. I continue: “The hell it’s not addictive. It really is addictive. If you’re an addict, I am not saying you are. To an addict it is a disease and this is addictive.”

“I haven’t smoked since Wednesday” he admits, looking down, deflating. “I’m not smoking cigs”.

With him there is no conversation just shouted rebuttals. Frankly I am worried. Very worried. I know it is easier to buy pot than get alcohol at this age. Neither are good.

He is mad about consequences. Consequences that we hate to do and also feel there is no other choice. I remove the bedroom door until his grades are better and attendance is constant. The phone and IPad are taken. He then sneaks his brother’s phone or makes ‘Deals’ with either parent. We love him and relent.

The friends have changed too. The fun and goofy crew that he has played with through middle school are not coming by anymore. He  disappears into cars driven by kids a bit older who he has met at the skate board parks.

This week he claimed to be sick. Later at noon the police caught him along with eight or nine others in the nearby park smoking dope and cigs. Citations were threatened and the school notified.

I want to shake him. Slap him out of it.