All the world is waiting for you
and the power you possess
In your satin tights
fighting for your rights
And the old red white and blue
Word around the schoolyard that mid-fall day of ‘79 had it that two sixth graders had been expelled. After my fellow second graders figured out the meaning of expelled and exactly what expulsion would do to one's permanent record, they began to wonder what had been the cause of this ultimate banishment from Meadowview Elementary. Could it be that strange graffiti showing up in the urinals, the penciled-in Fuck You that caused me to ask my Mom what the word Fuck meant and ended up getting the "Birds and Bees" lesson that would scar me for life? Maybe a brutal red-rover accident, a riot, a broken arm or cracked skull? We would send out our spies, the little nerds who had nothing better to do than put an ear to the merry-go-round or the double-hump sliding board of playground gossip. Soon, we would learn that the kids had been “smoking.” Over our grapes and cookies, we wondered why sixth graders would want to puff on those horrible things. Most of our group had recently pledged a life of no smoking, no drinking, and no drugs in order to get a bead for our Cub Scout uniform. After all, we had tee-ball careers to think about.
We would soon find out that they weren’t smoking on some Joe Camel but instead something everyone called pot. Within weeks, our parents were called to a special PTA meeting, given brochures and assurances that their children would be protected from this evil. Soon enough, we would all be sitting in the cafeteria-cum-auditorium listening to Wonder Woman—otherwise known as my friend George’s mom, who ironically looked more like Grace Slick than Lynda Carter—strum on her acoustic guitar and sing some anti-drug folk song in the manner of Cat Stevens before his conversion. Before the hour was up, we would be shown a little poster board and display case full of examples of what each drug looked like. We would be educated, brainwashed, and thoroughly convinced that one day we would wake up to a drug fiend holding us hostage and asking for drugs as ransom.
I’m not sure what happened to those two boys, or even if they ever existed. Thanks to pot, I tend to see the conspiracy everywhere. In fact, looking back, this may have been the genesis of my future drug experimentation. Some kids had Nancy Reagan, I had Wonder Woman.
Take a look at some of these anti-drug posters that have been preserved for posterity by smog.net. Remember them? I specifically remember the "Blowing Pot" one for some reason.
