Smoking Pot in the Bathroom

I was stupid

I was sixteen years old and I was stupid.

My father’s day job started at six in the morning and he got off work at three in the afternoon. He worked downtown which was about a twenty to twenty-three minute drive from where we lived. So he left for work at 5:30 in the morning. I was never awake yet at that hour so I never saw my father in the morning.

I walked to high school in the morning. That also took around twenty minutes. But I had a ride home from school at the end of the school day.

My ride was with my father. Getting off work at three in the afternoon, he stopped to pick me up from school on his way home. I got out of school at 3:30 and he arrived between 3:20 and 3:25. So he sat in his car for five to twelve minutes waiting for me.

What did he do while waiting for me? As far as I could ascertain, he rolled down the car windows (this was in the hot Southwest desert). With the car turned off, he turned on the radio and listened to music while waiting for me.

One day I opened the passenger door and slipped into the car, ready to go home. To my profound horror I found that my father was listening to a post-Beatles Paul McCartney song. And he was singing along! I was rendered speechless and thrown into a state of utter disbelief.

At the time my father was in his mid-fifties! What adult in his mid-fifties sang along to Paul McCartney songs in the early 1970s? I was beyond stunned.

He quickly turned off the radio and started the car as he asked me how my day was. I was too freaked out to answer.

The normal routine was for my father to drive us home and then I would change clothes, getting ready for work. My father would then hand me the keys to his car and I would go to work. I had an evening job at a fast-food restaurant which I would work until a little after ten in the evening. My father and I shared his car.

My parents’ bedtime was around ten in the evening. I didn’t get off work until around 10:30. After work I would usually go out with some buddies to drink beer and smoke pot. I would get home around midnight and very quietly go to my desk where I would put on my headphones and put on a vinyl record as I did my homework or wrote some poetry.

Well, on that day that I caught my father singing along to Paul McCartney I had a day off from work. Seriously, I would have rather been working than being at home with my family. So I had dinner with the family, watched a little TV then went to my desk and finished my homework very early. Looking at the clock I saw that it was just a little after nine-thirty.

I had finished my homework and any chores assigned to me. I turned on my turntable and put on a Led Zeppelin album. But before I set the needle on the record I decided to do something very daring. I went into my stash container and pulled out a joint and a book of matches.

I went into the bathroom on the bottom floor of the house which my brother and I shared. I locked the bathroom door and opened up the window above the bath tub. I stepped into the bath tub and lit the joint. I sucked on it, held the smoke in then released it out the bathroom window. I smoked half the joint then put it out. I then sprayed deodorant and after-shave and every other bathroom spray I could find to mask the smell. And then I went back to my desk and put on my headphones. I surrendered to Led Zeppelin as I opened a notebook with pen in hand.

As an indication of just how stupid I was back then I failed to make the connection that my bathroom window was directly below the window of my parents’ bedroom.

It was not long before my parents opened the door of my room and rushed in (like some FBI or ICE agents). My mother was freaking out, “There’s a fire somewhere! I’ve got to find the fire!” (This was before smoke detectors were invented.) With headphones ripped off, I stood up and inquired, “Fire? What… uh… do you mean?”

“I was in our bedroom and there was smoke coming in our window. It was a strange kind of smoke. There’s obviously a fire going on somewhere.”

Usually when my mother and I spoke it was very adversarial — unless I was stoned. We always had delightful conversations when I was high. Those conversations always happened late in the evening when I came home and she was still awake. Often in those circumstances we would talk for up to an hour. If I wasn’t stoned we rarely talked for more than ten minutes. (She never realized the difference.)

I calmly said to my mother, “Well, if it came through your bedroom window it probably came from those disgusting neighbors. They were probably burning some kind of drugs or something. You should probably go out back into the yard and see which direction the wind is blowing. See if it is coming from the neighbors.”

My mother bolted and went upstairs.

My father did not move. He crossed his arms and stared at me. Actually, he did not stare at me but rather stared RIGHT THROUGH ME. I could feel his eyes touch my very core. Without blinking, he stared at me for a long time.

Finally, as I prepared for some ultimatum, he broke his stare to look around my room. Whenever I was playing a record I would place the album cover of the record I was playing facing out from the significant collection of records I had. My father noticed the album cover, “Led Zeppelin, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Stairway to Heaven?”

“Yeah.”

My father’s stone-cold face changed as he produced a soft, very subtle smile as he nodded his head, “Yeah.”

Then his smile and nodding quickly stopped, “Listen son, I don’t ask much. But the one thing I ask is that you’re not stupid.”

“Uh… okay… yeah… okay… I understand.”

My father uncrossed his arms and went upstairs.

I stood there for a long couple of minutes. I then closed the door to my room and went back to my desk and put my headphones back on. I’m not sure but I think I may have then written a poem or something as I listened to Led Zeppelin.

From that night on I never again smoked pot in my bathroom. I was forever careful to only smoke it before I came home. I tried not to be stupid.

Many years later I quit smoking pot altogether. Sadly, I also quit listening to Led Zeppelin.

I still felt a little stupid.

What I regret is that I never sang along with my father to any Paul McCartney song or any other song. We had a deep connection but sadly we never sang together. And we also never listened to Stairway to Heaven together. But now I simply cannot hear that song without thinking about my father.

Copyright by White Feather. All Rights Reserved.