I’ve always recognized that my upbringing was rather sheltered. Growing up in the South, in a devout Baptist family, I had caring parents and protective friends whose version of peer pressure was ensuring I called my mom if I was running late. It felt like I was living in a scene from Leave It to Beaver. It was my own personal Mayberry.
I cherished that town. I envisioned raising my own children in a place that seemed free from the troubles of the world—no crime, no fear, and certainly no drugs. I was convinced that Mayberry was a haven.
I once thought the cautionary tales in after-school specials about kids spiraling into drug use were exaggerated. After all, those kids were foolish, and I? I was smarter than that. It turns out I was quite naive and perhaps a bit self-absorbed to notice the realities unfolding around me.
I vividly recall the first time I encountered marijuana. My friend Sarah had a small stash and asked me to hide it in my backpack while we were at her house to avoid her parents finding out. I declined. There was no dramatic fallout; she didn’t lash out at me for my refusal, nor did I try to change her mind. It wasn’t a defining moment in my life. I didn’t feel pressured; it was simply a blip on my radar that I wouldn’t think about again for years.
My interactions with illegal substances remained mostly limited to underage drinking and the occasional offer of a joint. I managed to steer clear of that world for the most part. In fact, I waited until just before turning 21 to drink, a decision that seems humorous in retrospect, but I didn’t see the harm in it at the time. I tried cigarettes, felt indifferent about them, and occasionally smoked socially—just to fit in.
These experiences made me grateful that I was raising my children in a place like Mayberry. I felt comforted knowing they would grow up in an environment where the school D.A.R.E. officer had little to do, where after-school specials were just stories, and where drugs were an issue for someone else, not my family.
Now, as an adult, I’m shocked by my own ignorance. Looking back, I realize that there were people in my life who battled addiction—classmates who lost siblings or even succumbed to overdoses. How did I miss all of this? I was so deeply entrenched in my sheltered existence that I couldn’t see the struggles that surrounded me.
Reflecting on my past, I realize that I never once encountered hard drugs in person. My knowledge of those realities came from criminal justice classes and reruns of Law & Order. I mourn for friends who have faced the consequences of substance abuse. At the same time, I grapple with feelings of shame for my youthful ignorance and gratitude for my fortunate circumstances. What kind of person does that make me? I can only conclude I was sheltered but undeniably lucky.
Although my parents may not have shied away from discussing drug abuse, we never had an in-depth conversation about it. As a mother now, I recognize the looming dangers that exist. I see the potential for negative influences and poor choices at every turn. I can no longer afford to be oblivious, and that realization terrifies me.
So, what’s my plan? Should I talk to my kids about the dangers of drugs and teach them to say “no”? Or should I hope they’ll navigate their youth as I did, protected by positive peer pressure and school education? I’ve decided against taking a passive approach. I can’t risk letting someone else sway my children and lead them away from the safety of my love.
I will continue to shelter them, but I intend to open the blinds. I aim to keep them secure while exposing them to the world and preparing them to handle tough situations when the time comes. I’ll pray for them and hope I’m equipping them with the right tools.
It’s the best I can do as a parent.
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