All right. I’ll admit it. I was doing things in the suburbs of Chicago that my future principal self may not have condoned: I stole burgers off my neighbor’s grill (I shared with my friends!). I did some dining and dashing…. I peeled some pepperonis off pizzas I was delivering…  And… I smoked a little weed now and again. But with these squinty, watery eyes, everyone thought I was stoned anyway…so I figured why not?  I blamed my moral lapses on the weed I was smoking. The problem was, I was losing track of who I was– I was hiding different parts of myself from almost everyone.

Fortunately, I had a role model in the form of Uncle Mikey who wanted to put me on the right path…  He was 14 years older than me. He had a handlebar mustache and he drove a motorcycle. In his Chicago apartment, he said there’s nothing wrong with chasing a good adrenalin rush, but you got to have a moral code; you got to live openly and honestly. Then, we smoked some of the devil’s lettuce from a bong that was filled with crème-de-mint liqueur… He had me lie down on his orange shag carpet and he put a soft pillow under my head…. Then he asked me close my eyes…  He didn’t do anything bad. He placed massive speakers on either side of my head– and he had me listen to the entire Pink Floyd, Dark Side of the Moon album. I didn’t find any hidden meaning in there, but it was really good…

Over the years, Uncle Mikey took me to rock concerts, laser light shows, rafting trips, which I loved, and not just cause they were enhanced…  So one day, my Uncle Mikey took me  horseback riding. Nothing like clinging to a thousand-pound animal in an all-out sprint through a forest. (This is a perfect metaphor for how I wanted to live my life). On the drive home, we got high and pretended we were a couple cowboys telling stories about life on the trail. When Uncle Mikey dropped me off, he stopped in to say hi to my mom and grab a cold pop.

But when I walked in the door, my mom cocked her head, leaned in for good sniff. Then she starts poking me: “You are stoned!” …This had never happened before. This was the 70’s… My mom was violating the don’t ask, don’t tell” policy that most every kid and parent adhered to.  But I didn’t miss a beat.

“No I’m not, Ma! The ozone’s really bad and hurt my eyes. And those horses were really skunky today.” I was proud of my quick response, and I high-tailed it out of there to avoid further questioning. But Uncle Mikey believed in radical honesty, before that was even a thing.

“Git back in here, Fred! I think it’s high time we end this charade.” Why was Uncle Mikey still talking like a cowboy? He must have still been really stoned. “Fred, you and I just smoked us a big fat doobie and we’re both high as a crow in the sky. Now as for you, Big Sister, I think it’s time for you to git off your high horse. Just last week you purchased a lid of some fine Acapulco Gold from me. Perhaps you’d like to break some out now so we can all enjoy a good buzz… together.

“I’m good. I think I’ll head upstairs now. Thanks for everything, Uncle Mikey.”  My mom and I just looked at each other. No words. There was nothing to say.

In the following months, we began playing this bizarre game of hide and seek. When Uncle Mikey mentioned my mom had a lid of pot (that’s what it was called back then), I knew it had to be hidden somewhere in her room. It was only a matter of time before I found it and took a small portion. Call it a parental sin tax. But then, my mom had the audacity to steal it back from me, and I had a really good hiding spot— in the toe of one of my old gym shoes. And so it went for the remainder of my high school years. Even though our hiding spots changed, my mom and I continued to indulge in each other’s goods, without asking permission.

I never talked about this with any of my friends. It was too weird. But during a dry spell when no one had any weed, I was more than happy to provide some blazing entertainment for my crew. So three of my pals and I pile into Fast Eddy’s brown Gremlin and fire up a joint. A minute later, Big Al looks at me through a thick cloud of smoke and says, “This is really good shit. Where’d you get it?”

It was time for me to tell the truth, just like Uncle Mikey: “I got it from my Mama!” My friends all got a good laugh out of that, but no one asked any follow up questions. Maybe they were too high.