Letters for Jones 4/2018

Happy 4/20!  It's not really a big deal here in Asia, as marijuana consumption is

much more of a fringe social behavior than a norm.  That being said, for some reason the

pond where we live attracts a mixed bag of locals and expats who congregate at the coffee

shop, drink coffee or beers, and pass around a never ending joint.  No pipes, but the tobacco

bong rises up and down from the floor with a regular pattern.  A listener knows when the

smoker is about to experience a monster head rush - the match strikes, the water

percolates slowly, drawing the smoke up the chamber, then the smoker tips the bong into

the horizontal position to forcefully clear the chamber with the sound of a wet whistle.  The

bongs gets laid down in the filthy sidewalk until the next grubby man scoops it up for a

quick fix.  I hear it all day long on the streets. Thanks my soon-to-be-wife for helping me

kick the lingering habit over the years.  

This day reminds me a most rebellious maneuver you lulled back in 2004, one in

which I'm hesitant to share with your folks, but in the theme of this letter, and with the

notion that any memory is a good memory, this one surely hasn't been shared with the

parental generation.  

It was Tuesday, April 20th, 2004, at 11:50 am in the north end of Boise, Idaho.  Our

severely underdeveloped brains had the idea to make full delinquent use of our off campus 
lunch - only 35 minutes long.  I don't remember exactly who joined me, but to my memory

is was Johnny and Pete, and one other.  We hopped in my little red Subaru and drove the

quick 5 minutes to North Junior High where we stopped and waited for you to mosey out

the North entrance door into our car, like we were a parent picking you up after school -

NBD!  North Junior High didn't have off campus lunch - or so the admin thought.  We drove

around the north end streets, eyes alert, peeled for any signs of a snitch who might give

away our delusion of stealth.  

We choked down a j and quickly dropped your ass back at the main entrance this

time - genius-  the THC further detracting from our already under developed decision

making abilities. I, personally was terrified of being a part of this rebellious endeavor and

being responsible for your potential consequences.  The risk was high, the consequences

higher.  Nonetheless, you managed to fire off a text mid-class to let us know all was well.  We

were so dumb!  Yet we had a lot of fun.  Mostly we were stoked to have pulled off another

stint.  

During your Jr. high days, your defiant, rebellious attitude could be summarized by three 
rules you identified, and somewhat followed, but only for the reaction of the implementation 
of the rules.  The rules were:

1. Different is bad
2. Don't worry about it
3. Don't do anything anyone else can do for you.  

One scene in particular is associated with you sharing these rules, and the setting is

your kitchen at the modern little breakfast table.  The sun is shining through the recessed

kitchen window overlooking the hot tub.  Your lovely mother is preparing a snack as you

recite your rules.  Shannon is somewhat amused but mostly appalled at your nonchalant yet

slightly offensive utterances. “Matthew!” She shouts, half questioning your words half

telling you to zip it.  It is morning on a spring or summer day and I lightly yet politely tease

Shannon about her tofu smoothies my parents always referred to when discussion

Shannon’s snacks.  You double down on the jab by affirming the strangeness of snack

choice, but with no room to talk.  You had no problem putting down a 300 cal Kirkland

chocolate weight loss shake chased with a pound of claussen dills on the side.  Pretty

different dude!

Your sister bounces back and forth from her messy room, always hosting a full faced

smile with her jaw dropped dropped at some ridiculous Jones expletive.  You and her laugh

the same.  Mouth open, neck forward, half glotal snort, half… different.  We fed her a lifetime

of shit every 10 seconds, just for her cute reaction, and all in love.  

After the snack we head outside for any assortment of games, pond exploration,

back forty fort building, or rolling on any form of wheels. I don't remember too much

indoor play at your house unless it was after dark playing video games or a wintery Sunday

watching football.  Amelia continues her occasional appearance, always sweet, always

independent, and always seeking justice from frequent unjust comments.  She still is all of

these things.  I don't like to project on what you would do or how you would feel in present

situations, but I know you would be proud of your sister for being different and standing up

for justice. She is working to reverse all the hate our ignorant teenage mouths put into the

world.  Not that it justifies our horrible mouths, but I hope she knows we did it all just for a

reaction, not because we actually believed it.  

Peace and love brother.  Stay up.

Jackson