Then the morning comes, and I have responsibilities. A hit off the Silver Surfer and a night of Turner Classic Movies has become, for me, an acceptable middle ground. By the kid’s bedtime, I’m often exhausted, and even if I’m not, babysitters run $10 an hour these days. Whereas before the boy’s arrival I’d often leave the house after 9 PM for a party, or a bar, or a movie, now my social life had contracted. If anything, parenthood meant that marijuana became a larger part of my life. It didn’t even occur to me that anyone would expect me to give it up. It never really occurred to me to give it up just because I’d become a parent. I could go two months without it, or go two months with daily use. My naughtiness all goes into the herb, and it’s as low-level as naughtiness gets.īefore my son was born, my hobby went like this: When I had weed in the house, I’d do it a lot, and when I didn’t, I wouldn’t do it at all. I don’t play a lot of cards or smoke cigars, and I’m really not that into porn. Alcohol doesn’t appeal to me, except in very limited quantities. New terms entered my stoner lexicon: “heat source,” “mouthpiece,” “whip,” “wand.” It would be the greatest present I’d ever give myself. I found a website for a sleek, gorgeous ceramic contraption called The Silver Surfer. My 35 th birthday was approaching, and I needed to get myself a present. “You get really high, and you don’t mess up your lungs. We went back to my office and looked over my stash. He’s a respected physician and my most trusted medical counselor. When my son was 18 months old, my best friend from high school came through town on his way to California.
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