I think about this moment, at least a couple times a year.
I must have been 15 or so...not long after my father died. I had tried pot a couple times by this point (lol) and was hanging around with a hippy stoner friend of mine, Jackie. We were running around one day and wound up at the apartment of one of Jackie's friends in the complex near the high school where the poor kids live.
A bunch of rough looking and dead-eyed teens were passing around a little glass pipe that I had presumed contained pot. "Weed. Ok, I guess," I thought to myself -- nevermind there wasn't a speck of green in the round end of the tube. The pipe and lighter made it to me and I tried to recall how I thought the others were using it and brought it to my lips, lighter cocked and ready. "Do you know what that is?" Jackie said, looking at me. I must have had a bewildered look on my face, I don't recall saying anything in response. "That's crystal meth."
I didn't really know what that meant or what that entailed at the time, but her tone of voice and gravity of her notification told me it was something I did NOT want. I calmly passed it on, expecting to be ridiculed by the group (I wasn't) and I think we left shortly after.
I'm sure this doesn't seem like a big deal to a few of you, but I have little doubt I wouldn't be where I am today had I mistakenly smoked that shit. I would have copped to it on my security paperwork when I joined the army a few years later and that may have nixed my job selection, and likely not had me move to the DC area years later. Not to mention that addiction runs in my genes and I can barely handle my coffee intake. I can't even keep tortilla chips in the house because my impulse control is so poor.