Research shows that prejudice affects behaviour. My father was a policeman and formed his prejudices at the police academy. For him, there was no doubt: the law is here to protect us. Coming home drunk after a night out was normal. Smoking weed on the other hand... zero tolerance! I don’t blame him, that’s what he was taught.
I wasn’t an easy sleeper. One night I thought a little weed would help me. I opened the window and lit a joint. Suddenly, my mom was in my room. I let my joint fall out of the window and told her I was indeed smoking. I was going to get a slap on the wrist for smoking, but at least tobacco is legal. Crisis averted.
And then the detective of the household stepped in. He smelled a rat, got his flashlight and went outside looking for evidence. Half an hour later I was called downstairs. I had to sit across from him at the kitchen table. Between us, on a cutting board with a knife next to it, was my ‘cigarette’.
My father asked if he had to cut it open. That wasn’t necessary, I confessed, there was mainly tobacco in there, but also a little weed. What followed was an interrogation. When I had explained everything properly, he sketched a clear picture of my future as a drug user.
His lecture went well into the small hours. It came down to this: stoners squander their time, accomplish absolutely nothing and are a burden to society.
My father’s approach did not have the desired effect. He taught me smoking weed was something I had to be ashamed of, so I became better at hiding it. I lured for an opportunity and when it was there I was steamrolling. Lo and behold: there was a definitive lack of constructive activity.
I became skilled at table soccer, my father hadn’t mentioned that in his rant. But for the most part, I met his description of a typical stoner.
Fortunately, somewhere along the way, I picked up different ways to use marijuana. Like taking a few small hits and getting busy. I call it the George Carlin method, which fits perfectly with the Firefly vaporizer.
Today, I am a father myself. Maybe someday I will find myself in my father's situation. I am glad that, when that day comes, I can offer more than what’s in the police books. But first I would ask the question that my father overlooked, blinded by his prejudice: why are you having trouble sleeping?
Written by: Steek
