Page 487 - WhyAsInY

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covered with swirls of color. That seemed, as I also learned, very much in keeping with the culture of marijuana (and, I assume, other drugs) that pervaded the parking lot and the arena itself. When the band played, it seemed as if most of the fans would move in graceful—to me, loopy— swaying that I assumed resulted from the Dead ethos—and at least mild amounts of “weed.”
I was not a complete stranger to the substance (as I said earlier, I had first experienced it in Camp Brookwood; years later, Phyllis and I had tried it once or twice, and I had tried it on a visit to my cousin Peter’s home), but I was in a very strange position when, standing behind Danny and his row of friends, I found myself being presented with a joint by my son. Do I take it? Do I toss it? Do I look away? Do I get sanctimonious? Parental? Well, I didn’t give it any real thought, and I had about a micro- second to react. I took it, drew on it, and passed it along—and I still don’t know what was the best move. Yeah, there’s a bit of macho pride and braggadocio here, but I don’t come away from the moment really feeling good about it. (Forgive me, son.)
Forgiveness is exactly what I’d like from Danny when it comes to my incredibly non-adult handling, if you can call it “handling,” of his college admission process: forgiveness but, in the end, gratitude (I believe). As you undoubtedly detected earlier on, it is an understate- ment to say that I am rather happy that I attended—and graduated from—Amherst. And like your normal, proud, Lord Jeff, I would have been delighted to have an offspring go there. On the other hand, think- ing myself to be a mature dad, I determined to be as even-handed as possible when it came to Danny’s decision, and I was careful to be as enthusiastic about the other school to which his attention had finally turned, Brown, as I was about my alma mater.
Thus, it was far from my proudest moment when I responded to his carefully considered decision, haltingly and thoughtfully presented to me over coffee one Sunday morning in 24E in 1987. “Dad, I’ve given it an awful lot of thought,” I heard, as my chest expanded with pride when Danny began to announce the outcome of his evaluation process, an outcome that I had thought to be all but inevitable. So, what did Mr.
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