GHOSTS OF CHRISTMAS PAST

A Christmas thought I have from time to time.

It was Christmas of 1995 I think. I had been out Christmas shopping and ran into an old friend. We stood outside of Macy's and talked, and he fired up a joint. I took a couple hits. I really wasn’t into pot, but it was Christmas right?

So I get home and start playing with my daughter. I’m down on the floor on my back, and I’m bench pressing her up and down, and she is laughing like all get out.

She says “Daddy, do you know what I like about you?”

“No, what?”

“You are always so playful!”

And I bench press her, bouncing, up and down some more.

On one of the down strokes, she’s looking in my eyes and she says:

“Daddy, why do you look so sad?”

I wasn’t sad, I was stoned. It made me look sad. But I couldn’t very well tell her that, could I?

And I never smoked pot again.
But do not be mistaken, I am no hero. 
There are much worse things than smoking pot.
I haven't said it here in a  while, but thank God for NA.