The dad from this 1980s anti-drug PSA is sorry for being so forgetful.


Hey there, kiddo. I think I owe you an apology. In retrospect, I can totally remember doing, like, a shit ton of drugs in front of you. Chalk this one up to a major “brain fart” on Dad’s end.

I’m not even gonna lie, son, pretty much right after I uttered the words “Who taught you how to do this stuff?” I was like, “Oh, fucking me, obviously. I do drugs in front of him all the time” — but then it became one of those things where you’ve already started saying something and you feel like you have to stick with it or you’ll sound dumb … But I see now that the real dumb thing was on the drive to Aunt Laurie’s for Thanksgiving when I kept having you hold the wheel as I did whip-its while screaming “See? See?!” Or that week where I pulled you out of school to stay at home and watch me do bong rips while you took notes and did pencil sketches.

[Untitled]_03182015234618_001.jpg

You’re pretty good at drawing, kiddo!

Man, being a parent does not come with a handbook. I guess sometimes even moms and dads make mistakes. Like that time your mom was taking Brandon to the doctor’s office and she forgot to pick you up from soccer, or those times when I would lay out an array of illicit street drugs on the coffee table and then do each one of them while making intense, unbroken eye contact with you. I literally don’t know how I’d forgotten about these things when I barged in here demanding to know where you learned how to do drugs. It’s like, “Uh-DOY!“

I mean, not to belabor the point, but talk about absentminded. Here I am, interrupting you in the middle of what sounded like a pretty cool rock song,* giving you the dickens over a little stash of weed in your closet? Hell, at least you had the decency to hide it in the closet! That’s more than I can say, as a man who keeps his stash in a big, open bucket on the kitchen table marked “Daddy’s Drugs.”

*(I know you like the loud stuff but you really oughtta check out some of Brian Eno’s ambient albums — great for getting high.)

Anyway, son, needless to say, you’re not grounded. In fact, I’m actually really proud of you. It took balls standing up to your old, forgetful dad like that, and you deserve to be rewarded. This may be the fistful of quaaludes I just ate right in front of you talking but, well, Son, I want you to have my drug bucket. I’m gonna take all the hard stuff out of it, of course, but the weed, the Percocet, and the nitrous tanks are all yours. I just wanna put this whole embarrassing ordeal behind us and get back to doing what I do best: being an uptight guy who does drugs in front of his son and looks like a businessman version of Super Mario.

I know what you’re probably thinking: "Where did you learn to be so cool, Dad?”

I learned it from you, son … I learned it by watching you.

Oh, you weren’t wondering that? OK, that’s fair.

Advertisement