I grew up knowing my parents and Godparents consumed marijuana.  They made special brownies and other stuff that were stored in orange containers.  I was forbidden to eat anything from an orange container in either house.  (Though one time when I was 16, my Mom made a special pound cake and put pieces of it in a green container.  As soon as I bit into it, I knew something was wrong because it tasted a lot different than it usually does.  So I spit it out and told her about it later.  She apologized and vowed to label any non-orange containers she may use for “the goodies.”)

They used these goodies instead of using drugs created in labs, they explained. Mom used it for PMS.  It made Dad and Harold less anxious.   Anne used it to concentrate on programming, and they all said it had other benefits that I’d find out one day when I was a “consenting adult.”  (That was their term for being: at least 18 but preferably 21; fully aware of all the risks; and willingly doing whatever I was doing that may or may not be legal but wasnt immoral.)  They also chose to consume it rather than smoke it, because it worked better. 

Starting when I was 13, they would make me toast with special butter and boysenberry jam if I was really sick or my hormones were raging too much in one form or another.  It helped my stomach problems, eased my cramps, and helped me sleep well the night before any major test.  The dose was a tiny fraction of what they would consume and also made from a strain of pot that was notably high in CBD’s.  I never felt “high.”  It was kind of like having chamomile tea, which I can’t stand.  

My Mom remembered my alerting her to the container mishap right before I turned 20.  She consulted with my Dad and my Godparents, and they decided that it was time I was given the option to consume marijuana under their supervision.  Miles was invited.  Naturally, Shirley and Rael were, too.

I voted for Prop 215 in 1996.  My Mom helped me get a medical card so I could obtain it legally if I wanted to.  They also started sending me my own goodies.  I got a blue container at the beginning of the month that had to last me all month.  

When I moved out, I still got the container, and I also got some from Rael, who had jumped through the hoops to grow legally.  I preferred it to drinking, which I didn’t actually do until I was 21.  Seeing what Nora went through in her early teens soured me to the alcohol in general.  (The rare times she only got high and didn’t drink, she’d giggle, sing, and eat cereal.)