I’ve always understood that my upbringing was quite sheltered. Growing up in the South within a church-oriented family (Baptist, of course), I was surrounded by caring parents and protective siblings. My friends exerted peer pressure in a way that meant ensuring I called my mom before staying out too late. It was like living in Mayfield from Leave it to Beaver. It was Mayberry.
I cherished that environment and envisioned raising my own children there. Mayberry seemed flawless—devoid of anything that could mislead a young mind. There were no threats, no crime, no drugs.
In my youthful ignorance, I dismissed the intense after-school specials depicting kids spiraling into drug abuse as exaggerated. I believed those characters were foolish, and I? Well, I was certainly smarter than that.
However, I now recognize my arrogance. I was too self-absorbed to see the reality unfolding around me. I vividly recall my first encounter with marijuana. My friend had a small bag and asked me to hide it in my backpack to keep it from her parents. I declined.
There was no dramatic fallout; she didn’t get upset, nor did I manage to change her perspective on drugs. It wasn’t a pivotal moment for me; I didn’t think about it again for years. My experiences with illegal substances were mostly limited to underage drinking and the occasional offer to smoke a joint, but I largely navigated those waters unscathed.
I even postponed drinking until just before I turned 21. It seems almost comic now, but I thought it wasn’t a big deal. I experimented with cigarettes occasionally, feeling it helped me fit in socially.
Those memories made me grateful that I was raising my children in a real-life Mayberry, where the school D.A.R.E. officer had little to do, and the dramas of after-school specials stayed far from our reality. I was blissfully unaware of the struggles that existed around me.
Now, as an adult with a broader perspective, I reflect on the individuals I knew who faced drug addiction. Some suffered tragic losses, including siblings who succumbed to overdoses. How did I remain so oblivious? How did I exist in my own version of Mayberry while ignoring the hardships around me?
I realize that I never encountered hard drugs firsthand; my understanding of them stemmed from criminal justice classes and late-night reruns of Law & Order. I mourn for my friends who have lost so much due to addiction, and I feel a mix of shame for my past ignorance and gratitude for my fortunate circumstances. What does that make me? Sheltered? Blessed? Lucky, perhaps?
Though my parents may have discussed drug abuse, we never had in-depth conversations about it. Now, as a mother myself, the risks seem alarmingly real. I see potential dangers and poor choices lurking everywhere. I’m no longer the naive ostrich with my head buried in the sand, and it is frightening.
I must decide: should I educate my children about the dangers of drugs and teach them to “just say no”? Or should I hope they grow up like I did, relying solely on positive peer pressure and school drug education?
No, I can’t take that chance. I won’t risk someone else influencing my children and leading them away from my nurturing environment. While I will still protect them, I intend to open the blinds. I want them to be aware of the world while ensuring they stay safe. I hope to guide them in handling difficult situations when they’re ready to venture out on their own, and I will pray for their well-being.
That is my duty as a parent.
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Summary
The author reflects on her sheltered upbringing in a seemingly perfect town, Mayberry, where she was blissfully unaware of the drug issues affecting others around her. As an adult, she comes to terms with the ignorance of her youth while grappling with the responsibility of raising her own children in a world that poses real dangers. She resolves to educate her kids about the risks of drugs while still providing them with a safe environment.