A father walks by his son’s room. He notices, with his parental instincts, that something must be wrong. The room is spotless and even the bed is made. Several alarms go off at once, especially when he sees a letter on the pillow with the word “Dad” written on the envelope. Expecting the worst, he opens the letter and begins reading it with trembling hands.
Stacy has opened my eyes to the fact that marijuana doesn't really hurt anyone. We'll be growing it for ourselves and trading it with other people in the commune -- for all the cocaine and ecstasy we want.
In the meantime, we'll pray that science will find a cure for AIDS so that Stacy can get better. She sure deserves it!
Don’t worry, Dad. I’m 15, and I know how to take care of myself. Someday, I’m sure we’ll be back to visit, so you can get to know your many grandchildren.
P.S. Dad, none of the above is true. I’m over at Jason’s house. I just wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than the school report that’s on the kitchen table. Call when it’s safe for me to come home!"
This son is clearly a veteran in breaking bad news to his parents.