Uncle Rick lived in our garage, and he wasn’t actually my uncle.
He and my dad were tight growing up, and while Dad went to college and started a career, Rick fixed up cars and slept in til noon as a career.
After he moved into our garage, Mom forbade me to ever go out there. Of course I went out there every single chance I got after that, because that’s how kids are. Uncle Rick was a weird guy, but very kind and wise in his own way, and he always treated me with a respect I didn’t get from my folks. Uncle Rick was also blazed on cannabis virtually all of the time. That is why Mom didn’t want me around him, it wasn’t because she disliked him she just didn’t want me getting a cannabis contact high being around him. She had a great point, by the way, as the dense cloud of marijuana smoke that surrounded Rick at all times got me high more than once. Now that I’m a grown man with my own house and my own garage, Uncle Rick lives with me, still enveloped by that fogback of cannabis smoke at all times. I like the guy, and I like giving him a place to live, and to be honest I also like smoking the marijuana myself every once in a while. Now that he is retired from his math teaching career, my dad even comes over to my garage sometimes and we all smoke marijuana together. It is the best kind of family bonding.