Summer days like these remind me of a time almost 40 years ago that I learned my grandma had smoked The Marijuana.
My father's mother would sit in her easy chair in the corner of the living room, smoking a filterless Raleigh cigarette and watching her soap operas. Between her shows she would tell tales of long ago or pontificate on the rules of life. But she really surprised me when she said she smoked The Marijuana.
Me and my buddy Dick had been shooting the breeze on the back porch of "The Old Home Place," talking about a pal who had gotten into a bit of trouble for having a bit of the wacky weed in his possession.
We decided to go inside for a soda. There was my grandma in her easy chair, enjoying her cigarette.
"I heard you boys talkin' about the marijuana," she said. "I used to smoke it."
Dick looked at me with wide eyes.
I laughed out loud.
"Really?" I said laughing. " Does my dad know this?"
"Your grandfather doesn't even know," she said. "It's good stuff, makes you relaxed."
"Well I wouldn't know about that," I said.
Dick stifled a laugh.
"Where did you get marijuana, ma'am?" asked Dick.
"It grew wild in the fields," she said. "We'd pick it then take it and hang it in the shed. Cure it just like tobacco. Get a mouthful of whisky and spray it over the plants. When it was ready we'd roll it up and smoke it."
I was dumbfounded. After all, it was only a few months earlier that my father got all upset with me for burning incense in the basement. And here was his mom talking about smoking pot.
And my buddy Dick was still staring at me.
I shrugged my shoulders.
Years later I told this story to my brother.
He didn't believe me.
But then, he wasn't there.
Grant McGee is a long-time broadcaster and former truck driver who rides bicycles and likes to talk about his many adventures on the road of life. Contact him at: firstname.lastname@example.org.