You Can't Go Home Again or It's Always Smokey in Philadelphia

"By the way," I was telling my son Brandon over the phone yesterday, "Philadelphia is about to decriminalize marijuana. Gonna just be a fine." 

Brandon goes to college in nearby Baltimore.

"Wow, Dad, that's terrific!"  he said.

"Well,  yes, it's a good thing," I replied in measured tones.  "Years ago, I might have been very pleased, but in this day and age ..."

"You know, Dad," said Brandon,  "I've been thinking of coming home for a visit soon."

"Oh, no, no, there's no need for that!  You ... uh ...  have your classes and homework to attend to."

"Sure, but I've got all that pretty much under control.  I'd like to come see you."

"I look exactly the same.  A month or two older."

"Yes, but I miss everybody in Philadelphia.  I have a lot of friends in college there I'd like to visit."

"They're all busy!  Many of them have moved.  I'm afraid, Brandon,  some don't even like you anymore."

"Hey, Dad, what's this all about?  You think I want to come home to do drugs?"

"Of course not!   It's just that your life is in Baltimore now.  Baltimore Maryland.  Where nothing's decriminalized."

"You've told me you did more than your share of weed back in the day." 

"You don't want to turn out like me!"

"Come on, Dad, you have your flaws, but you didn't turn out all that bad."

"Are you kidding?  I have demons!  DEMONS!"  

"Well, I'll certainly come home for the Jewish holidays."

"Umm,  I forgot to tell you.  I'm converting.  Love that Jesus!"

"What about Thanksgiving?"

"I'd hold off 'til Christmas. Maybe President's Day."  

"May I ever come home, Dad?"

"Sure."

"When's that?"

"Whenever they decriminalize marijuana in Baltimore!"

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