LITMIR.BIZ

       Preface

      I tried cannabis for the first time in junior high school. I remember the “friend” who offered it to me. I remember the feather-ended roach clip that held the joint, which was certainly long enough to smoke without. I recall the acrid smell of the smoke I released from the one long pull, the dizzying sensation, and the feeling of being out of sync with my own thoughts. I was high and I didn’t like it.

      My frustration made me rash. I demanded to be returned to the school that I had ditched for the day. “Maybe you should just sleep it off, and I’ll take you home later,” the friend suggested. By now, though, I no longer trusted him or myself. I was having trouble harnessing my thoughts and hoped being in a familiar and safe environment would reverse the effects. How wrong I was.

      Against his better judgment, he returned me to Parkway Middle School just in time for my last class of the day. Within five minutes of being on campus, my discomfort and paranoia got the better of me. I incited a fight with a friend and ally. Not just a verbal assault but a physical altercation that sent her to the hospital and me to court. Suffice to say, it was a sobering experience.

      I was sentenced to 200 hours of community service in exchange for an expunged record, which is why I spent that summer at a consignment shop whose proceeds benefitted a shelter for victims of domestic violence. My sympathetic female supervisors initially stuck me in the clothes section, thinking I might like getting first pick of the offerings. But when they realized I liked to read, they assigned me to the book section in the back. Consequently, I literally read my way through those 200 hours, and it was there that I came upon one book that really resonated with me. It was “Go Ask Alice,” the diary of a teenage drug-addicted girl. I was convinced that if I ever tried marijuana again, her horrific life would be mine.

      I reference this incident because it was an integral part of my journey from cannabis paranoia to writing about cannabis pairings. I believed then that all cannabis had the same effect and would result in death or prison. This idea was reinforced by the church and by the Reagan administration’s anti-drug campaign. It gave me permission to judge others and declare myself a martyr. I preached the gospel for many years, counseling young and old about the perilous road of cannabis use. Without much knowledge of the marijuana plant, I, like many Americans, demonized it and anyone subscribed to it.

      I was wrong.

      What I didn’t know was that the strain of cannabis that I smoked that first day was likely grown under duress and in ill circumstances. I didn’t know then that cannabis not only has different strains, but also differs depending on how it was produced and who is using it. That particular strain just may not have suited me. I knew nothing of the flavor profiles, indicas versus sativas, hybrids, the varied effects, or of CBD or its many medicinal properties.

      Perhaps you, like me, judged. Perhaps you do still. But maybe, just maybe…you too can be born again.