Halloween was a roaring success, I must say. Not only was Ronan a hit as Vince the ShamWow guy, but his older brother had a brainstorm as well. Forced to come up with a last minute costume idea for a party Saturday night, he grabbed a bunch of his school sports medals, threw on a bathing suit and a towel, borrowed a bong and went as Michael Phelps:
No, I do not know from whence he borrowed the bong, nor do I care to. But it brings to mind another story. A year or so ago, Aidan came to me with a confession and a query. Apparently he’d gone looking to borrow a sweater from his dad, and while looking through John’s closet, he came across a Chinese puzzle box. You may be familiar these things – wooden boxes with secret compartments, often sold in head shops. It didn’t take long for Aidan to figure out how to open it, and when he did, he found what appeared to be a tiny black pebble. Suspicious, he brought it to me. He wasn’t sure, but thought it might be drugs. Well he was right. It was. A teeny tiny piece of dessicated black hash, circa 1984/85. Whose, I can’t recall, but probably mine, although I admit to nothing, even a quarter century after the fact. I assured Aidan that that we were not Cheech and Chong. For the record, I also told him the tiny chunk had certainly lost whatever potency it might have had, and chucked it in the garbage. Later, when I told John about it, he had no recollection of ever stashing anything in the puzzle box. He also said he had long since forgotten how to open it. See kids? This is what happens when you do drugs.