One of my college roommates, a kid named Larry spent his 21st birthday getting high on marijuana. Later that evening, Larry and his car took a swan-dive off the Pennsylvania turnpike out near Breezewood. Larry was killed instantly. The coroner’s report later confirmed that Larry was stoned when his car left the highway.
I learned of Larry’s death from a couple who had spent that day partying and getting high with him. They were devastated and couldn’t stop crying long enough to relate all that had happened during their last few hours with him. They watched Larry walk out the door not knowing that it would be the last time they saw him alive.
In the midst of that conversation, it struck me that neither of the two people who had gotten high with Larry were feeling any remorse or sympathy for the heart-breaking loss Larry’s family were experiencing. Instead, they were lamenting their own loss, the loss of a fun-loving partying buddy. To be honest, the whole conversation left me numb.
Alcohol and drugs weren't my thing when I was in college, but I did attend a few parties with Larry when he was my roommate and he always made sure the host knew beforehand to have a soft drink or two available for me. If somebody criticized my refusal to smoke marijuana, he was always the first to step in and verbally defend me. He didn’t agree with my choices, but he respected my right to choose. I felt the same way about him. I still do.
I’m not going to use marijuana whether it’s legalized or not, but if it is, there will be more swan-dives off the turnpike, more families lamenting the loss of loved ones and more tears. That’s not something I’d recommend choosing.
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