The first time I got high was when a camp counselor shared a joint with my friend and me. There were no photos, and no parents ever knew. Everything was just

The first time I got high was when a camp counselor shared a joint with my friend and me. There were no photos, and no parents ever knew. Everything was just fine that way, too. Who knows what my parents and siblings were up to while I was gone. It was such a relief to get away from my whole family for a week when I was a teenager. That was in the 70s. I would have gone nuts if I'd been raised by the helicopter parents of the 90s who were always on the verge of calling social services on my wife and me because we didn't always supervise her every waking moment. Hell, sometimes we didn't know where she was when she was a teen. And the psychotic version of obsessively intrusive cyber-stalking parents that exist now makes me not want to know young parents.