Dear Future Children: The Marijuana Speech

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I just wrote a letter to my future children.

I think it’s important to talk to your kids about drugs, but I’m not an experienced marijuana user.  I didn’t try weed until I was 30, and even then I saved it for very special occasions.

Giving my kids the “marijuana speech” seemed like a very special occasion.  I want to be honest with my future kids about marijuana, and it seemed like the best way to be honest with them was to actually be on marijuana as I wrote it.

That might be a dumb idea, but put yourself in my future kids shoes:

What if, when you turned 18, your parents gave you a letter that they wrote to you — while they were high — before you were even born?  How would you react?

Personally, I would love them for it.

So I smoked up, set aside one hour, and wrote the following letter in one shot. Zero hassles, zero fuss, zero editing.

I’ll let you decide if it’s better than the letter I wrote while sober.  Enjoy!

Hello, Future Children!

It’s your dad here.  I’m high right now.  And you know what?  I feel pretty fuckin’ alright!

Cannabis is just like everything else — it can be used as a tool or a toy.  Right now I’m using it as a tool to open up and see the world through more relaxed, loving eyes.  I don’t know if I’ll openly support weed when you’re growing up, but just so you know I’m not a hypocrite:

I have absolutely no problem with you smoking weed after you’re thirty.

I waited until I was thirty (the same year it became legal in my state) and I have to say — it’s pretty fucking fantastic.  It’s cheaper than alcohol, there are no hangovers, and it makes me love the entire planet.

This guy knows what I’m talking about!

I have nothing against an alcoholic beverage every now and then, but I gotta be honest — beer’s got nothing on weed.  I was on team beer my whole life but I’m officially jumping over to team cannabis.

Weed makes me forgive my enemies, while beer often creates new ones.  If you have to make a choice between weed and beer, choose weed.

So that’s dad’s little public service announcement.

I’m writing to you now (while high) because I always wondered if my parents tried drugs in the 60s, but I never had the balls to ask them.  I’d be so curious to know what they were like.  

So here’s what I’m like:

Right now, I’m not worried about the future.  I’m extremely grateful for the moment.  And I’m extremely grateful for you, even though you don’t exist yet.

I already love you.  

I love you very much.  I’m imagining looking down at your undoubtedly pudgy cheeks as a baby.  I’m imagining you losing your first tooth.  I’m imagining your high school graduation.

And now I’m imagining giving you this letter.  You’re probably going to be heading off to college and/or leaving the nest soon.  I’m going to be emotional.  Even though it’s over 18 years away, I can already feel the bittersweet blend joy and sadness.  Sad that one story is ending, but joyful there’s a new story yet to be told.

Our story together hasn’t ended, but from now on it’s a different book.

I read somewhere that when you leave the home at age 18, you’ve already spent 94% of all the cumulative time with your parents in your entire life.  

And now that you’re gone, both our lives are going to change.

I hope we spent that 94% well, and I hope we make the best of our last 6%.

One more time, I want to remind you that I love you.  That was something that was never said to me when I was growing up.  My family didn’t hug or kiss, and we definitely never said “I love you.”  As a result, I’ve lived most of my life nervous about displaying affection.

To be clear, I feel absolutely no shame, regret, anger, or sadness about this fact.  My parents were amazing, and even though they didn’t say they loved me I always felt it.

But I think it’s better if you have the courage to say how feel.

And that’s why I’m so thankful that I met your mom!

She opened my life up in so many ways (and I opened her up in so many ways! *rimshot*)

Sorry, that’s your mom, I shouldn’t be gross.  Also, I said rim-SHOT, in case you misread it.

In all honesty, I wouldn’t be the same person without her.  I wouldn’t smile as much.  I wouldn’t laugh like I do.  I wouldn’t know what true love feels like.  

She’s helped me overcome much of my former self, so if you grew up being hugged and kissed and told you were loved, you can thank your mom.  She brought out the best in me, and hopefully we brought out the best in each other. 🙂

And hopefully you brought out the best in us.

I’m sure there were struggles.  I’m sure there were arguments.  That’s part of being a family.  But in the end, please know that you’re your own person.  Obviously I want you to grow up and be healthy and happy and wise.  But it’s possible that in 18 years, we may have disagreements over what those words mean.  That’s okay.  You’re 18 now.  You’re your own person.  But please know that I’m always here for you if you need me.  If you don’t, I’ll still love you.

I’d write more, but honestly, I’m quite tired at the moment.  Unlike my sober self, I realize that less is more (or maybe I’m just too lazy to edit).

Either way, I still love you.  That’s the most important thing to remember.

That’s the ONLY thing to remember.

I love you.

~ Your Dad

(Before I was your dad)

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Thanks, great article.