My nephew smokes pot. My darling, funny, artistic nephew is a pothead. The cherubic little boy who adored Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, airplanes and trips to museums with Aunt Shelly is a doper. The precocious youngster who eschewed the team sports his mother forced him into playing by purposefully scoring points for the other team is baking his brain on a regular basis. My inquisitive little “tweenager” who loved Nova and Animal Planet, who would have wicked nightmares about giant frogs attacking him after watching those very shows and who would still rescue baby turtles from the roadside is on his way to being a burnout. The lanky, punk rocker with a penchant for history, philosophy, and anarchy but who still curls up next to me on the couch so I can rub his hair and read to him is addicted to marijuana.

And I am devastated.