Daddy what are drugs?

While spending some quality time together this weekend with my oldest son, we caught a glimpse of a TV show depicting DEA agents hard at work. My son asked what is the DEA? I explained it stands for the drug enforcement agency, and they serve to protect us from the bad guys who sell or use drugs.

As expected from a 4 year old, he followed one question with another, "daddy what are drugs"? -I have to admit that although this isn't as bad as him asking how babies are made, I was a little nervous to answer. -So all kinds of info flooded my mind, from Cheech and Chong movies to President Reagan's war on drugs. I even had a thought of a book from Tom Wolfe called the Electric Acid cool-aid test, where Ken Kesey and his merry pranksters run around the country using acid and filming their experiences. It was there where I remembered who I was talking to and tried to teach to his level.

"Well son there are good drugs and bad drugs" making sure he realizes that when a doctor gives him some pills he needs to take them. I then referenced an experience he had two days earlier going to the dentist to fix 8 cavities. The dentist gave my son some type of liquid paradise and left him laughing at everything he laid his eyes on, especially his mother. I explained that what he took from the dentist was an example of good drugs and they helped him go through his treatment with minimal pain. I reminded him that those drugs made him feel funny and he had a hard time walking, talking and all he wanted to do was laugh. I even received a text from my wife after his appointment that said, "this is like taking care of a drunken midget, he thinks he can run around but when he tries he runs straight into the wall". I then explained that some people want to feel like that all the time and that was bad. I then said these people will stop at nothing to get drugs for that feeling and so the DEA and the police have to stop them from breaking the law to use drugs.

He then smiled and said "ohh", with a feeling of accomplishment I figured I had accomplished my fatherly duties and my son is better off with the knowledge I had given him. Later as I was explaining to my beautiful bride what a wonderful father my son has, she says, "Ohh that is why he came in and told that the dentist gave him some gooood drugs,(extra "o" for explanation purposes).

It's funny how literal children can be and how the same phrase can change depending on its context.

Stuck in an MRI

Recently I had the great privilege of getting an MRI. While some may think this is no big deal, they are often taller then they are wide. Unlike myself. Knowing this I called around to try to find a larger machine. It was a little awkward asking does your MRI work with fat guys like me. I instead awkwardly stated that I was a rather robust gentleman and then asked if their MRI would fit. To my dismay they all said yes.

Knowing what I had to do I started my mental preparations early thinking it will help me over come my fear of making headline news as the first fat man stuck in an MRI. Then when I looked into the little tiny hole that they insisted I should get shoved in I freaked out a little. To overcome that fear they suggested I use some drugs, in the form Valium. As a good Mormon boy my first thought was, " yeah I get to get stoned and it is legal". When the nurse came out to give me my precious prize she said, "we are going to give you a little more than the usual", boo ya. I looked at the two little pills she gave me and said I was hoping for more like a blow gun and to shot with tranquilizer normally used for a rhino. She smiled and handed me 15 mg of Valium. It had zero effect on me, what a rip off.

"Fat man in a little hole, fat man in a little hole", OK so unlike this guy in the picture I did fit, barely. I had to put my hands above my head while slowly slid me into the death coffin leaving hardly any room between me and the machine. This had one very undesirable result. Because of my massive size plugged the whole and limited the air flow through the tunnel. I was sweating more than Tom Dashle being grilled in front of the IRS.


Not only did I have to do this once but I ended up going to the MRI place three times in one week. After the second trip into the tunnel I had overcome my fear of being trapped stuck human sardine in a can.

Lesson learned, to overcome my fear I had to just do it.