IT'S THE LUCK OF THE DRUG

He had called me to meet him at a nearby mall, his voice sharp and pinched
and breathless.

When I arrived, he climbed into the passenger seat, a day's worth of
stubble on his face and a tremor in his hands that was alarmingly violent.

Addicts, when they need their fix, can be a disconcerting sight.

The story he had this time was that his prescription had run out and his
doctor had phoned in a new one, but he didn't have the cash. Could I lend
him 20 bucks?

Lend is a subjective term when it comes to the people in your life who
drift in and out at intervals measured in months or years. I gave him $40
and he headed into the strip mall at 10 o'clock on a Saturday morning.

I waited. And when he returned, his hunched posture had been replaced with
a confident strut, the grimace had bloomed into a polished smile, and when
his hands reached out to embrace me, they were rock-steady and strong.

My dad, an alcoholic, had paid a visit to the liquor store. He had rejoined
the land of the living, and no one (save me) was the wiser.

Many addicts aren't as fortunate. They've "picked" the wrong substance to
love; the methamphetamine that caused one teen I know to pick holes the
size of quarters in his skin; the crack cocaine that prompts its prey,
delusional and tweaking, to sift through gravel in search of ghost rocks;
the heroin, that seduces with the promise of release yet delivers nothing
but captivity.

Only drinkers, gamblers, and until recently, smokers, are able to partake
of their poison in elegant style.

Boozers can shop leisurely at the liquor store. They can saddle up at the
mahogany bar and exchange pleasantries with their fellow pub-goers,
surrounded by sparkling bottles and cocooned in the warm thrum of conversation.

In the casino, the flashy slots and bow-tied dealers make blowing the
paycheque a sophisticated game.

Certainly, as with all addiction, which is a progressive disease, the seedy
side will eventually emerge. The 12-year-old scotch will give way to rice
wine; the house will be mortgaged and family lost to blackjack. But until
they hit bottom, "the good junkies" will be spared the bitter ostracism
that is a part of other addicts' lives.

Due to the nature of crack and heroin -- their illegality, fluctuating
purity, and effects on the brain -- users quickly descend to desperate
levels. They sell their bodies. They rob your house.

Decriminalization? No, but de-stigmatizing would be a good start, and
targeting recovering heroin addicts like this city is doing -- by hiking
methadone dispensary licence fees and trying to outlaw take-home
prescriptions -- does nothing to encourage the regional drug strategy Mayor
Doug McCallum says he supports.

When I think of my dad, who tested my patience on many occasions but
nonetheless still held my heart, the equation is simple. Hate the drug, not
the drug addict.