I must have been around 25 years old when I finally quit smoking marijuana.  I started smoking marijuana at the age of fifteen, and smoked it off and on until I quit.  I did not have any use for marijuana anymore; it had served its purpose by getting me through the pain of being bullied for many years.  By the time I quit, I was riding bulls, and I would only smoke it if someone offered me some.  I remember the last time I smoked marijuana: I was in a full-length arm cast because I had broken my left arm in two places on a bull named Blackjack in Creedmore, NC.  I did not like the way marijuana made me feel anymore; I just wish I had given it up sooner, or better yet, I wish I had never smoked it at all, but then maybe I would not have any stories to tell you.

Once, me and a friend, Adam, went to a rodeo somewhere in North Carolina; I was not entered in the rodeo because frankly, I had not heard about it.  I can not remember if I even had my gear at that point.  Anyway, after the rodeo was over, Adam and I were talking with some cowboys we had never met at their campfire.  Me, being the quiet person I am, just sat there not saying anything while Adam and another guy gave these kids their autograph because the kids often look up to bull riders.  I figured there was no point in wasting their ink on little ol’ me, however, they never asked for my autograph anyway.  I can not recall exactly, but I believe I was wearing the cast on my arm from riding Blackjack.  I was introduced to the cowboys that were camping out, and they seemed nice enough, and little did I know I would hang out with one of those cowboys on the ranch they managed outside of Mebane.

The cowboy that I had met at the rodeo was Al; Al was a ranch manager, and a rodeo fan, and he was hilarious and fun to be around.  Al invited me out to the ranch one day to hang out; we were chasing a heifer in a pick-up truck because Al knew it was around the time for it to calve.  I do not know for sure but I think he wanted me to see the calf born, but the calf had already been born and was running around with its mama.  Al continued to chase the calf so he could check on it, while not trying to run over it; then, Al shoved the gear up into park, and he ran out of the truck and he grabbed the calf and kind of threw it down.  After we ran down the calf which was fun, we went to see what some of the ranch-hands were doing, and they were changing a light using a tractor with a front loader which had one of the ranch-hands standing in the bucket to reach the light.

The next time I was on the ranch, was when I spent a drunken night in an extra bedroom at the ranch house.  Al woke me up early and we went to get breakfast at a small diner in the country, and then we went back to the ranch.  Al told me we were going to go feed the cows, and he fired up some marijuana as we smoked a joint between the two of us.  After we finished the joint and I was as high as a kite, Al put me in the cab and driver seat of a huge John Deer tractor, and the next thing I know we are going down the road waving at people passing by; finally we came to a gate on the side of the road and Al told me to stop while he opened the gate.  We got through the gate as Al took a seat on the fender of the giant tractor, and then he started calling the cattle; hooooooiiiitttt, hoooooiiitttt, and the cattle started following us.  Then Al told me to stop again, and he took a bag of feed and cut open the top corner of the bag.

Then Al started pouring the feed on to the ground as he walked slowly across the field, and the cows walked enthusiastically up to the feed and started eating, and all the while I am thinking, “This is so cool!”  I wanted to work on the ranch, but I was too afraid to ask Al.  I figured he did not have room for another ranch-hand or he probably would have asked me if I wanted a job because I was not working at the time.  I had some great times on that ranch with Al, and I will never forget the time he told me I was a real cowboy, and he told me I was too big to be riding bulls and that I should be bulldogging if I wanted to compete in rodeo.  I disagreed with Al on that point; there were plenty of bull riders in Professional Bull Riders the same size as me who had won a world championship: riders such as the late Lane Frost, Tuff Hedeman, Owen Washburn, and Adriano Moraes.  Eventually I moved back to Concord, NC so I could not go to the ranch, but the last I heard about Al was that he had a stroke; I felt terrible when I heard this news.  Al had showed me so much, and he gave me confidence in myself despite the fact he thought I was too big to ride bulls.  At least he was honest with me.

Another time when I was sixteen, I got high with some friends, and we decided to go cruising in downtown Burlington.  I admit I did not drive too well when I was high on marijuana, but as we were traveling down Highway 70 from Mebane to Haw River, I got pulled over by a cop.  I was scared out of my mind as the cop was asking me questions, and I fumbled my words trying to answer him.  I could tell the cop knew something was up, but he did not smell alcohol, and back in those days, driving high was not hard to get away with, as the cop let me go.  Instead of going home, I continued to head toward Burlington as my friends were laughing at me because of how I handled the cop which was not good.  I am glad people can not get away with driving under the influence of marijuana in this day and age because it is just as dangerous as driving drunk.

I am so glad I stopped smoking marijuana when I did; all it seemed to do was get me into trouble or tick off friends and family.  Mainly, when I mixed alcohol and marijuana was when I started acting stupid and felt invincible; it got me kicked out of numerous bars, and I am sure it held me back in life.  Instead of all those times I was high, I could have been pursuing a degree, yet I just kept doing it and let it cloud my judgment.  Surely, smoking marijuana did not help my mental illness at all, as it made me extremely paranoid, but the doctors at UNC Hospital told me that the two usually go hand in hand: Paranoid Schizophrenia and alcohol and drug abuse.

It was only a matter of time before I broke it off with Mary Jane; she was deceiving, a liar, and a bad influence.  I had to grow up some time, and it is too bad I did not do it sooner.  Mary Jane will haunt me for days to come, but I also realize it was the people I surrounded myself with; while they may have had the best intentions, smoking marijuana did not help me; it was simply a setback.  I am so glad I took myself out of the equation of the formula that was messing up my life.  People say marijuana is the gateway drug, and I believe it is; however, is it because you are willing to try other drugs while you are high or is it because it puts you around other people who have other drugs?  I would have to say yes!