Pot

My daughter and I just got in from an errand. We drove by a building my mom’s church rented during my teens, before it built its own sanctuary. I gave her a little walk down my memory lane.

When I was all punky with my Pat Benatar haircut and many ear piercings, I was a member of my mom’s church’s youth group.

I had known those kids and the adults involved since I was a toddler.

One of the girls — the one I was closest too — was smart, funny and had all the Queen albums. Fun fact: Our freshman year I introduced her to a girl from my school I thought she would hit it off with, and they fell in love.

She also smoked pot.

One evening everybody sat on the youth-room floor and watched “The Breakfast Club.” In one scene, the characters get stoned.

The director directed her curiosity at me, “Is that really what smoking pot is like?”

How would I know? I shrugged.

She thought I was feigning. “It’s OK, you can tell me.”

Now I was getting angry. My friend was sitting right next to me with her Farrah Fawcett feathers, quiet as you please. I was the only one in the group being asked.

Everyone in the room stared at me until the youth director gave up.

That woman is a friend of my mom’s and grama’s, so I still see her frequently, some 25 years later. I’ve never outed my friend, who is now a minister.

I’ve just sat here, bitter as you please.

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One Response to “Pot”

  1. Sharon Says:

    And now the minister gets to work with youth herself…there IS a god 🙂

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