crack pipes and Mother's Day

It's a hell of a combination, huh? I think I found out where crack pipes come from (well some of them). Andrew and I stopped on our way home from school to get some snacks for his game. I sat in the truck, since he's getting to an age where he doesn't need an escort everywhere he goes. He comes out grinning from ear to ear and hands me a small glass cylinder. Inside there is a pink rose. On each end, it has a cork. As soon as I saw it, I felt like I was in a horror movie: flashbacks hit me hard. Burn marks, yellow fingers, the smell of burning rubber, the crack of cocaine as it burns and small roses given to me years ago.
Somehow, I am just now figuring out where those roses came from. Apparently, he would buy these little roses in a glass container; take out of the rose (aww, what a sweet gesture, he gave them to me) and then use the cylinder as a makeshift crack pipe.
It amazes me what will bring back horrible memories. Something as sweet as a child buying his mother a rose can be twisted into something so vile.
The good thing is now I have new memories of different holidays rather than every one being messed up by the crack head. Only a few more to go and the whole calendar year will be covered. The only memory I want of the crack head is the day the judge tells me it's finally over.

So, on that note, here is my Mother's Day present and card from my son. If he's already doing sweet gestures like this at 9 years old, I hope he keeps it up when he gets a girlfriend. Well, maybe not, depends on the girlfriend.