My first time smoking marijuana…
It was 1988 and my family and I were living in N. Hollywood, California, and at the time I was 12 years old.
My family had recently moved from the Downriver/Detroit area of Michigan, to California, where we ended up in N. Hollywood for about a year. The schools and neighborhoods around where we lived, were mostly made-up of Mexican gang-bangers, and illegal immigrants, both of which were new to me, since the closest I had been to either, was when our dad took my brother and I to see the movie “Colors” a few months before moving to L.A..
My then best-friend Tim and I were walking home from school, when this old beat up car pulled up beside us. “Get in, Timmy” his dad said, “I’ll drive you boys home”. Since it was pretty warm out and a long walk through some bad neighborhoods to get there, we got into the car and headed down the road.
I remember pulling into a shoddy looking neighborhood (one that we usually tried to avoid on the walk home). The car started slowing down when we saw a group of guys in a yard, looking like they were up to no good. I thought we would be in for some serious trouble when Tim’s dad (Tim Sr.), stuck his head out the window and started yelling at the guys….
He shouted loudly from the car window, “mota, mota”.
One of the guys from the group, quickly ran over to the car and started talking to Tim Sr. in broken English and a bunch of Spanish words I couldn’t understand. The one word I do remember being said over and over was, “mota”. I didn’t know what this “mota” was, but I had a feeling I would know pretty soon what it meant.
As they talked, I remember seeing Tim Sr. hand the guy a small wad of cash, in exchange for a small plastic bag. I could only guess that the bag was full of this “mota” they had just been talking about. Once the exchange was made, we pulled off pretty quickly, and got out of the area in a hurry too. I didn’t know it at the time, but apparently, I had just been a part of my very first “drug transaction” at the age of 12 years old.
Tim’s dad pulled the old beat up car back behind an office building and into a parking spot. He pulled the bag out from wherever he had stashed it, and put it up to his nose… “ahhh, that’s some good mota Timmy”, he said (or something to that effect). Next, I remember him pulling an old soda can out from under the seat. He dented it in on the side, cut a couple holes in it, and poked a bunch more where he had flattened it down. I saw him take some of the “mota” he had just gotten, and break it up into small pieces, and place it on top of the can. I watched with a weird look on my face as he put the open top of the can up to his mouth, and then lit a lighter and held it up to the “mota” that was on the can. He started puffing in and the car started to smell like something I hadn’t remembered ever smelling before. Tim Sr. took a huge puff and held it in. He started coughing, but wouldn’t breath out, he just kept holding in the smoke! I remember him exhaling and the car filled with smoke, even with the window down part way. “Ahhhhh, that’s real good mota Timmy, real good”. He put the can back under the seat, started the car back up and we headed on our way – back to Tim’s apartment where I would be spending the night.