There are moments in parenting that stop you dead in your tracks.

Like when your teenage son casually says….casually, like he’s asking what’s for dinner….
“Yeah, my friends think y’all are drug dealers.”

Excuse me?

Apparently this revelation came with a follow-up question, because of course it did:
“So what did the drug money buy you for Christmas?”

First of all: the audacity.
Second of all: the confidence.
Third of all: imagine believing this household is funded by illicit riches.

Let’s get something straight.
If this were drug money, the vibes would be wildly different.

There would be:

• A boat (none of us know how to drive one)

• A mystery vehicle with tinted windows

• At least one item purchased without checking the price

Instead, what did the “drug money” buy?

• Groceries (again??)

• Utility bills (rude)

• A very adult kitchen appliance

• One emotionally charged purchase made at 11:47 p.m. (because hemp does that to some of us!)

• And receipts saved “just in case,” because crime is temporary but audits are forever

Teen logic is undefeated. Once the word hemp enters the chat, every other explanation exits immediately. You’re no longer parents…..you’re a Netflix documentary waiting to happen.

And honestly? It’s flattering.

There’s something powerful about being perceived as dangerous by a group of teenage boys while you’re actively asking who drank the last soda, reminding everyone to shower, threatening to turn the Wi-Fi off, and for the love of everything please put on deodorant!

Real kingpin energy.

We could explain legality. Compliance. How painfully boring running a legitimate business actually is. But that feels unnecessary. Much easier to shrug and say,
“Yeah. Santa’s diversified. Don’t worry about it.”

The best part? Your kid is simultaneously embarrassed and low-key proud. Because while you’re ruining his social life just by existing, his friends think he’s living off cartel Christmas.

Balance.

So if your teen’s friends think you’re a drug dealer because you own a hemp business, congratulations. You’ve officially crossed into that special parenting era where nothing you say matters, everything you do is suspicious, and your job sounds cooler than it is.

We’ve been called worse.
And frankly, we’ve earned none of it.

Happy Fun Friday

— Jam’n