Smoking Weed at Thanksgiving
November 29, 2016
It’s the first day of the holiday season, and it’s not the time of year I’d usually spend with family. I’m usually on the road in early November, chasing one of my other favorite travel adventures—exploring the Colorado desert and living on the edge of the Grand Canyon. With little more than a weekend ahead of me, I get to spend it on my own.
I’m not here visiting families. I’m not here to be with friends. I’m here to visit one of my friends’ parents and celebrate the passing of one of my childhood heroes. The passing of a great man. The passing of a man who was always ahead of his time, who changed our national outlook on marijuana, who stood up for what he thought was right, who loved the open road and the open mind.
I’m also here to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner with good friends.
There’s a lot of time on the dinner table today. A lot of time to think, to ponder.
A lot of time to remember and relive the moments I’ve witnessed with my friend.
There’s a lot of love, too, and a lot of laughter.
So, I’m not here to be with family on December 15th and Thanksgiving on December 22nd.
Maybe I’m here to see my friend’s mother for the last time.
Maybe I’m here to see my friend’s father.
Maybe I’m here to see everyone.
I’ve made my peace with the fact that I’ll never see them again. Not one-by-one, not one-by-two, but in the larger group of family members. It’s not just that I’ll never see them again. It’s that I’ll never see them ever again.
As I sit here contemplating all the people I’ll never meet, or see again, I look forward to Thanksgiving. Because, like my friend once said, nothing beats what happens in the kitchen.
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It’s Thanksgiving Day
