Fathers and Daughters Getting Stoned Together - It Only Took Me 49 Years to Come Around to Cannabis

Fathers and Daughters Getting Stoned Together - It Only Took Me 49 Years to Come Around to Cannabis

dads and daughters on weed

Okay, so I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m 49, and not ashamed to say so. Up until a few weeks ago, I’ve managed to go my entire life, never trying cannabis. Here’s my story about my first time, and it was with my husband and my daddy this summer. Awkward? Read on!

I had my reasons

Despite the best prodding from my friends and some family, I wouldn’t budge as a kid. My primary reason for never trying cannabis was that the only dispensary method in the 80s was by smoking it. Well, I spent too many hours of my life in a tiny Subaru with the windows rolled up (because the A/C was on) while my parents chain-smoked while we drove cross-country. To this very day, I have never tried a cigarette. I figured I’d breathed in enough nicotine for one lifetime.

Later in life, as a young adult, I learned that some people were cooking with cannabis. The people I knew didn’t prepare regular food very well, so I was skeptical at the thought of their culinary expertise hiding that prominent smell which I assumed would contribute a flavor. When a friend tries a brownie, makes a horrible grimace, and hands it to me, my immediate reaction is “no thank you.” That pretty much sums up my young adult years and cannabis.

That didn’t stop Daddy

Actually, nothing stopped Daddy – least of all me. He started smoking pot as a teen and never stopped. Even today, he tells his doctors matter-of-factly and says he cannot be convinced to stop. He kept his use out of sight from me as a kid, but there was no hiding that smell. I thought he had the worst taste in incense flavors for the longest time until I was 12. That’s when Steve Braden (a kid from the block) pulled out a joint for us all to try. I declined due to my smoking aversion, but that scent caught my attention, and my adolescent mind was quickly putting two and two together – and the jig was up! That was Daddy’s smell!! When I visited him the next weekend, I held back my accusatory glares with the “just say no” campaign commercials in the background. I let it go, but now I knew!

When I was sixteen, Dad and I had our first conversation about his cannabis use when I lived with him that year. He made no apologies but insisted that he would be a complete jerk without it. He asked me how I felt about his use in front of me. I sent him to his room. Sorry, that was just too weird. I used to mess with him when he came out of his bedroom, talking fast and making verbal schedules for him weeks in advance until he whined: “stop, I can’t think that fast right now!” I never watched Dad toke until I was in my 40s.

Waste not - want not

When Daddy first started growing his own cannabis, he hated to toss away the yields that weren’t the level of quality that he preferred. He doesn’t throw anything away, but I can write a whole different blog about that. To make the most of his mediocre crop, Daddy started experimenting with edibles as a means to use what he didn’t find very pleasant to smoke.

The candyman is born

Nothing was turning Daddy on until he found and tried a recipe for making gummies. Dad had to have started with actually trying one, first, for I can’t imagine him purchasing all of the equipment on an experiment. It’s not the style of the man who pinches a nickel until the buffalo poops. He was so proud of what he created that he wanted me to try it. My adult cousins gave them two thumbs-up, and he became the most popular uncle in the annual camping trip. I resisted his offer the first year because of my job doing drug testing, but I can report that he did manage to use up his supply of what he would have otherwise thrown away, and that pleased him.

My virgin run

I have so many odd stories about things my Dad and I talk about and do. With me being an only child, we are both open books to each other. When he came up the next year, he brought his gummies with him, and I was working for myself so no longer subject to drug tests. He was so excited to see me try it, acting like a kid on Christmas Eve. He wanted me to eat a gummy in the parking lot of the grocery store before we went in! I have no idea what is going to happen to me and I sure as hell didn’t want to learn in the dairy aisle, so I insisted on waiting until we got home first.

I remember that he made the gummies with Sour Diesel and they tasted just like that smell underneath Daddy’s bedroom door, with an aftertaste of fruit punch. He gave me half of a gummy. My husband got two whole ones. I remember my lips felt funny for about a minute – and nothing. In all fairness, my body malabsorbs a portion of what I consume, so I wasn’t surprised. My husband, on the other hand, felt all kinds of weird, excused himself, and went to bed. In a way, I thought, “no fair!’ I’d waited this long, and that was it?

One more time

Daddy came up in July with a new batch made from his favorite strain, White Widow. He guaranteed I would (had to) feel something this time, so I agreed to give it another run. This time, I threw caution to the wind and ate two of them while my husband decided to scale back and ate only one. I must admit that this batch tasted much better. It took me about 20 minutes to feel it, but by golly, I felt something this time!

I felt extremely relaxed for about 40 minutes, and then it was gone. My dad said he thinks I got a little chatty afterward. My husband retorted, “she’s always chatty,” but what did he know? He was the chatty one! When Daddy went to bed, I was feeling normal as far as I could tell. I was most amused to watch my husband eat three snacks, one after the other. I admit that I did sleep like a baby that night, better than usual, and I woke up feeling great.

Bonding just the same

As we age, finding ways to bond with parents becomes more of a challenge. Never in a million years did I ever think I would be trying to get stoned with my Daddy. Even though I didn’t get the effect he hoped for, I think he found a certain level of joy sharing a piece of his world with both my husband and I that I had denied for this many years. As I write this, I wonder if this will be my lasting memory I’ll speak of at his funeral? Would you?