Not Ready for a Cannabis Store for Billions of Years
By Michael Gold
Pleasantville isn’t ready for a cannabis café. It won’t be ready for about five billion years, when the sun will burn out and life on Earth will cease to exist.
It doesn’t matter where the cannabis café would be located, what security measures are put in place to prevent minors from entering or how much tax revenue it might generate.
Adults seeking cannabis can get into a car and drive to a cannabis shop in another town. Any store or warehouse a kid can walk to in town is a place a kid can hang around in front of. While that’s OK for a comic book store, it’s not for this.
Pleasantville has certain Norman Rockwell-like qualities that could easily be degraded with the arrival of a cannabis shop. It’s the type of town where parents pull their little children in red wagons to the Saturday market. Kids peacefully walk to school. We say hello to other people walking on the streets and talk with our neighbors on the weekends. The tree-lined streets exude a sense of quiet and peacefulness. It feels like a little slice of heaven.
I had a friend growing up who started smoking pot when he was about 13 years old. We met at summer camp in upstate New York when we were 11. His nickname was Bones, like the doctor on Star Trek.
Bones smoked a lot of pot. I never asked to join him. When I was in the sixth grade, my father had put the fear of God in me about doing drugs and I actually listened to him. My friendship with Bones never got crossed up because he did drugs and I didn’t.
His parents were divorced, but I don’t know how much that troubled him. We didn’t talk about it. He loved music, and he taught me about Eric Clapton, Cream and Lou Reed, artists I hadn’t heard of before.
He lived in Forest Hills, Queens. I used to take the train from my town on Long Island to see him.
He and I went to concerts and wandered around Manhattan sometimes. We saw Jethro Tull at Madison Square Garden and The Grateful Dead at Nassau Coliseum. We went to the movies and ate fast food.
At the Grateful Dead concert, Bones smoked pot and hashish and swallowed some amphetamines and LSD. The concert was festival seating, so we could sit anywhere. Soon after the band came on stage, I lost him. Later, at the end of the concert, he found me, telling me he was so high he had run around the arena the entire time. Drugs made him happy.
The next year his mother and stepfather placed him in a drug rehabilitation facility. I went to visit him in Queens one weekend when he was released from the facility. We played basketball with the other kids in the rehab center.
When we were older, we got jobs at our old summer camp, as dishwashers. The next summer we worked as maintenance men at the place.
After that, we lost touch. I went to college. I heard through Bones’ stepbrother that he moved to San Francisco and was working in a music store, selling stereo systems.
A few years ago, I had lunch with his stepbrother on Long Island. I asked how Bones was doing. He told me that Bones had died of a drug overdose in San Francisco about 20 years before. I didn’t ask what kind of drug. He may not even have known.
The family brought his body back East and buried him in New Jersey. There’s nothing left of him now.
If there’s even the slightest chance that just one kid could figure out an illicit strategy to get into a cannabis café in this town or finagle a way to get an adult to buy them pot, that’s one too many.
Every parent knows that they need to communicate the message to their kids that drugs are not OK. They provide an escape, yes, but you know what? When you come down from that high, you still face the same problems and issues. The solution is not to escape, but to work at the challenges in your life. If you need a temporary break from school or your house, take a walk around town. Play ball with your friends. Read a book.
And whatever drug you take may get you addicted, until all you think about is getting high again and all you do is get another hit. It will ruin your life.
Allowing a cannabis shop in this serene village is the wrong message to send to our children.
A comic book store would be OK, though.
Pleasantville resident Michael Gold has written op-ed articles for the New York Daily News, Albany Times-Union, The Virginian-Pilot and other newspapers.
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