Talking To My Young Kids About Drugs

Two things happened last week that made me realize I needed to talk to my six and eight-year-old sons about drugs. The first happened while standing in the grocery store checkout line. My six-year-old turned to me and said, “Justin Bieber is in prison for drugs.” Panicked I tried to play it cool and ask him where he had heard that story in as nonchalant voice I could muster. To which he responded by pointing to the cover of a tabloid magazine with the Bieb’s picture on it and then solemnly explaining to me that kids at school told him too. Not totally accurate but does that matter to a six-year-old?

Oh holy hell.

The next “universe-hitting-me-over-the-head-with-a-sledgehammer” moment came the following day at soccer practice when I overheard a conversation between the other moms about how they talk to their kids about drugs which I immediately butted into. My hands down favorite “drugs are bad” slogan came courtesy of my friend and fellow soccer mom who also happens to be a police officer. She told her kids they would go to prison or die if they did drugs. Easily understood message and pretty much true. Bravo!

But my biggest take away from soccer that day was that there wasn’t a single mom at practice who hadn’t had some sort of conversation with their child. Total and complete panic set in. I was undeniably behind the curve.

The irony is that I’ve been practicing this conversation in my brain before my children were even born. To say addiction to drugs and alcohol run rampant in my and my husband’s family would be an understatement. I’ve been at family gatherings where attendees in twelve step programs outnumber everyone else. By a lot. Both my father and my husband’s father struggled with addiction and recovery most of their adult lives. To tell my children that experimenting with drugs for them would be the equivalent of playing Russian roulette with a loaded gun is not an exaggeration.

So why have I waited? Why the hesitancy on my part? I know the costs all too well so why aren’t I screaming about the dangers of drugs from our rooftop?

And like all complex matters there isn’t a single succinct answer. But if I had to boil it down it would be this: I am afraid I don’t have the right words. When you’ve lived with the shame and sadness of what addiction has cost you and your family it’s so hard to find words that tell that story without being scary. Like Nightmare on Elm Street Scary. And I’m not sure my kids ready for that movie.

I’ve hesitated because I don’t want to open Pandora’s Box. If I tell my children about our family’s long slow dance with addiction are they going to ask me for specifics? Are they ready – and let me be honest, am I ready- for them to know that their grandfather, who they adore and idolize, has battled his demons and addictions his whole adult life? I am not. Where do I draw the line? How honest do I have to be?

And truly, no matter how much I prepare, or research online, or talk to other parents this conversation is going to play out in ways I could never anticipate and I just have to accept that fact. I need to “fail forward.” Because I know all too well what happens when we bury our heads. Wish me luck!

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