THOSE PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENTS ARE SCARY-- TO PARENTS

Somehow I never see it coming. I'll be sitting with my parents, watching
"The Late Show," we'll be laughing and enjoying ourselves, and then the
worst happens.

Cut to a commercial. But this late at night programming doesn't cut to just
any commercial. It fades in a public service announcement. That's when the
trouble starts. A young man's face will appear on the screen. He will look
distraught, as if his youth has been stolen away by some tragedy. And just
as I am reaching for the remote, he'll make his opening statement:

"Sure, I did drugs."

Oh, for crying out loud.

Now, don't get me wrong, I really like the idea of public service
announcements. They get help to those who need it and let those with a
problem know they're not alone. They're a good thing. The thing is, in my
house PSAs are more of a warning to my parents about things I might be
doing, even though I don't and they know I don't.

The PSA just puts the fear into them. The commercial continues:

"I was doing drugs any time I could get my hands on them. And my parents
had no idea. I would tell them my grades were fine and I would lie about my
social life. They never suspected a thing."

All this while pictures of heroin needles and children in the fetal
position flash in the background.

Now the fun starts.

Turning their heads slowly toward me, my parents examine me as if they've
never seen me before. All of a sudden I am not Ben Taylor, but Cokehead
McWino, and they have to act fast.

"Ben, you know that drugs can ruin your life, right?" my dad asks, faking a
cool nonchalance.

Before I can even respond, the PSA interrupts as if it's read my dad's mind:

"Sure, my parents and I had 'the talk.' I heard how they can ruin my life.
But I just couldn't stop. I just wouldn't stop."

Then the pained and masculine sobbing starts in.

Now, how in the name of Ecstasy Awareness am I supposed to compete with
that? It's as if my parents expect me to break down at that very second
with some crazy confessional about my double life as an underground drug
lord so they can send me away to rehab for the rest of my life.

Just as my dad is getting up to tape my confessional and pack my bag, I
interject, explaining that no, no I haven't ever used drugs and I don't
plan to. I am clear on their consequences and I don't need to them to "feel
cool" or "get by" or anything like that. I am drug free, and that's the way
to be.

Where have I heard that before?

And so my parents and I settle back into our seats once again, their
suspicions quelled and their faith and trust restored. At least, that is,
until the next commercial break.