As Long As We're Confessing Our Pot Past . . .

DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA:  Everybody’s doing it – confessing their youthful, pot-smoking ways – so here goes.

I don’t remember.

Kidding, kidding. Anyone over 30 recognizes the old adage: If you remember the ’60s, you weren’t there. Nyuk-nyuk-nyuk.

It is true that marijuana smoking tends to affect one’s short-term memory, but the good news is that, while stoned, one does relatively little worth remembering. At least that’s my own recollection.

So, yes, I toked, too. This doesn’t mean anyone else should, and I haven’t in decades, but our debate might have more value if more of us were forthcoming.

Would I have written this when my children were young? Probably not. I was furious when an Episcopal priest, while speaking to my son’s then-fifth-grade class about his ’60s experience, shared that he had dropped acid in college.

My concern then was the same as parents’ now: If a priest (or a columnist) can drop, smoke, drink and become an accomplished adult, how do you tell your children that it’s bad for them?

 

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