Pretty soon, marijuana will officially be wonderful. God help us.
There was a revealing story in Friday’s Citizen by reporter Jacquie Miller about a marijuana dispensary in Orléans that opened in a building that also houses a couple of services that cater mostly to children.
One was a private tutoring centre, the other a martial arts academy. The soccer moms are anxious. “This is killing me,” said one. “We are terrified,” said another, threatening to pull her three children from the tutoring centre.
What does this kind of passion, this visceral reaction, tell us? It suggests — as parents, as suburban communities that cherish safety, as a people spooked by a national fentanyl crisis, as guardians who worry what our teenagers are up to at night — we are not wholly ready for this.
Here, evidently, are the groups jittery about marijuana becoming legally available at an outlet near you: parents, young kids, senior citizens who never touch the stuff, cranky middle-aged newspaper hacks, small businessmen who don’t want pot shops nearby, the police, educators and plenty, plenty more.