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Now that you know the basics about me, Eric Welch, it’s time to dive a bit deeper. So, let’s go back to where my journey with cannabis—well, weed as we called it—really began. We had a million names for it: dro, fire, crunchy, triple grade A, the list goes on. I could probably fill this whole blog with the lingo alone.

You already know I bounced around between homes, what some might label a “broken family.” But honestly, that’s bullshit. Looking back, I realized my parents were much better off separated. They’ve been happily married to their partners for over 20 years now. We weren’t broken; we were just finding our way, a family in transition. I love my family, they’re good people who raised good kids.

Around high school my mom wanted me to spend all four years in one place, figuring it was a big part of growing up, I guess. So, I moved back to Kentucky to live with my dad in the basement of his house in Mount Washington. Talk about trying to fit it, living in the basement of your dad’s house while his “new family” lived upstairs. Yeah, it was hard for me to understand as a teenager. Especially since my dad didn’t really talk much about feelings and what not. Looking back, I realized how naive I was, mostly because I didn’t have a lot of guidance. I wanted to be liked; I wanted to belong.

Sound familiar? This has pretty much been the theme of my life: finding a place to fit in. Cannabis didn’t come into my life because I was seeking it out. It was just there. And like a lot of “firsts” in life, you don’t forget your first time smoking. For me, it was with Ronnie Jager in Mount Washington, Kentucky. We smoked out of a bong, playing video games, and devouring chips, laughing our asses off at absolutely nothing. It was the quintessential first high—pure, unfiltered bliss. Funny thing, Ronnie became a tight ass and we lost touch after he fucked up my car and my mom about whopped his ass, but that’s another story.

The first time you try cannabis, it’s almost magical: that feeling of lightness, peace, and absolute carefree bliss. But as we get older, life throws us some curveballs—traumas, experiences, responsibilities. We learn to compartmentalize, and those early highs? They hit differently. Don’t get me wrong, I still love cannabis; I’m literally hitting a Sour Joker THC vape while I write this. But now, it’s got a different vibe. Sometimes it even makes me anxious instead of relaxed. Funny how that happens.

Anyway, back to the story. After that initial experience, I didn’t exactly become the freshman stoner. In fact, I didn’t smoke again for quite a while. I wasn’t even aware that cannabis—or any drug, for that matter—was part of this whole underground market. In our house, there wasn’t much talk about it, and lucky for me I had no idea how the world of “black market” worked. It wasn’t until after high school that I started to understand: this plant wasn’t just a pastime, it was a commodity, it was community, it was something people would buy, and if I sold it, I could pay the bills.

I told you I would keep closer to 500 words. See you next week!