My father was an alcoholic who almost drank himself to death when I was 11, and then finished the job a dozen years later. Before I went to college, when I was old enough to understand what was happening, I made a vow never to touch the stuff. And I haven't. I'm not ashamed of it, either. Pretty proud of it, actually. You want to drink and get high, that's your bag. It's not mine, doesn't have to be, and never will be.
It hardly means, however, that I'm some kind of dunderhead on the dangers of it. You don't have to wake up in a pool of your own vomit in a crashed-up car to recognize that. I've had enough moments in my life to see traits of addictive behavior in myself, some of them more destructive than others, and realize it's not a road I ought to go down.
The last time I willingly had a drink was when I was 17. Took a couple of sips of a rum and coke at a party. Had a few friends after that who thought they'd be funny and slip me a "Coke" that was actually a mixed drink. I took one sip, spit it out and damn near threw it back in their face. I was ready to throw hands over it until they apologized.
That's where my major annoyance with the pro-pot crowd comes in. And I'm mostly talking about the ones for whom it has become a movement and a lifestyle, not the occasional weekend tokers. There's this belief among them that you'd just see the magic of pot if you smoked, man. Things would be so much cooler! It's the same attitude my friends had when they tried to slip me a drink thinking I wouldn't notice. It rubs me in all the wrong ways because it's ****ing arrogant as hell.