My mother grew up in the 1960’s. For the purposes of this story let’s call her Joanne.* Although she came of age during the ‘hippie era’ she’s always been very anti-drug and anti-alcohol. I’ve seen my mother drunk maybe once and I’m almost certain she’s never even experimented with drugs. Maybe she smoked once in high school, I’m not sure, but she’ll likely never admit to it. Her brother, who is nine years older than her, was quite the stoner and he probably had some influence over her but that’s neither here nor there. This is about the brief conversation I had with my mom as I was laying in bed one Saturday afternoon and she knocked on my door. (I was high).
Mom walks in my room.
Mom: “Smells like cheeba cheeba in here. You smokin cheeba cheeba?”
Mom: “Pot. I teach in the Bronx, I know all the drug lingo.”
Me: “No one calls it that anymore, Mom.”
Mom: “You smokin cheeba cheeba?”
Mom: “Okay good.”
Mom walks out of my room.
*because that’s her name.