I probably shouldn't have given Velvet (aka The Man Child) my hand-me-down weed last week. It's just that he was so disillusioned at having been ripped off by someone he thought was a friend that I thought he needed cheering up. Velvet had bought some weed with his birthday money and his now ex-friend Tofer kept it. Even though Velvet asked Tofer to give it to him when they left Central Park to go to Big Nick's Burger & Pizza Joint on Broadway, Tofer said, "No man, I'll hang onto it." Velvet forgot to get it before he came home and Tofer went back to New Jersey with the weed.
Tofer has done enough lame things to everyone in their little crowd that he's getting a reputation for being a filthy addict. Filthy in the Doesn't Bathe Enough sense and Addict because all he ever wants to do is get high on something. He may not actually be addicted to anything, but he certainly did get kicked out of the private school he attended with many of Velvet's friends. His parents live in New Jersey and now he's stranded out there all the time except when he comes into the city to hang.
**Note** Velvet does not attend an expensive private school. Not exactly. The school he attends is a Board of Ed approved private school for children with learning disabilities since he is dyslexic and has ADHD. Since the Board of Ed declared after numerous evaluations that there is no public school in the environs of New York City that will meet Velvet's learning needs, he attends a private Special Ed school (in the vernacular, SPED) at public expense. I'm sure everyone reading this missive will be glad to know their tax dollars are well spent. As someone with two Masters Degrees in Education and 20 years experience in the field, I can say with authority that the American Education System is a fucking disaster. In point of fact, the methods used in Velvet's exclusive school for children with LD issues are what every child needs and deserves since we all have different learning styles.
**Note 2** Some people believe ADHD does not exist. I beg to differ.
**Note 3** So many children need these services - because of Disabilities in American Schools not because of anything inherently "wrong" with the children -- that there are reportedly 500 applicants for each opening.
**Note 4** Velvet has a 3.8 grade point average and did very well on the PSAT's for a SPED. Otherwise he wouldn't be smoking weed at all(at least not with my knowledge).
The day after my baby's birthday he was Mr. Mopey. Tofer wouldn't return his calls, and by Monday Tofer had told one of their buddies that he had given Velvet his weed but no one remembered. When I heard the story for the fifth time, I told Velvet that Tofer would have called him back to tell him to his face if he'd really given him the weed - so that just proves Tofer is a liar. The crowd of privileged high school children agreed and plans for social revenge ensued.
In the meantime, his hang-dog ass-dragging demeanor made my heart ache, so on Wednesday morning before I went to work, I put the Hand-Me-Down weed in a tupperware container with a bow on top and left it on his desk. Later that evening, I asked him if it was weird for a mother to give her kid some weed. He said it was sweet and touching - but he could tell it was dirt weed. I had to roll my eyes and say, "As if I'd give you my good weed."
The next day, he and another friend - the one who says I could play the Samuel L. Jackson role in Snakes on a Plane - said that the hand-me-down weed was "train wreck" - which means when you're smoking, it seems like you're not getting high so you smoke more than you should leading to being high as shit in a little while. We called it Creeper in the olden days.
In the kitchen, we carried on further discussion about the weed delivery service here in the city and how I just liked Red Headed Sensimilla. Who knows what people call it these days. I still am not sure what "hydro" is, but I assume it is hydroponically grown in McMansions.
This morning over French Toast, Velvet said they had had a wonderful time hanging out at some one's apartment last night. Everyone there had Tofer stories, so they trashed him happily - but even better, a fellow was there whom Velvet finds alarming because he's allegedly Mafia Spawn. When Velvet first met said Mafia Spawn, let's call him Xenon, Velvet worried that he had irreparably offended the boy. Somehow when they were all at their favorite spot in the park, Velvet dropped Xenon's blunt and stepped on it. Ooops. Velvet believed he was forever on Xenon's bad side, and since Xenon has a gun that was a bad place to be. I don't know where that child gets such an active imagination. Besides, I have my Grandfather's shotgun and my Greatgrandfather's 1912 Remington - neither of them work, but they'd make a Hell of an impression.
As it happened, last night Velvet had the bag of weed I'd given him, and Xenon had some papers that allows the roller to choose his own length. The resulting spleef took an hour and a half to smoke. Velvet is sure that he has thoroughly atoned for stepping on Xenon's blunt.
Velvet has another friend, from Hippy Dippy Quaker Camp, who we will call Big Bear. When Big Bear was in fifth grade, he liked to stick a needle into his glass eye while it was still in his head for the cabin's entertainment. Big Bear knows things. In Big Bear's considered opinion, Xenon has a gun not because he is Mafia Spawn but because he is a Future Terrorist. Racial profiling is involved because he is Palestinian or Iranian or something like that, but half the kids in the Crowd are Israeli. Maybe it will turn out that the ten inch reefer I inadvertently contributed to the party will be a proverbial peace pipe facilitating world harmony while being passed around a high-dollar apartment on New York's Upper West Side. Stranger things have happened.
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