This comes via Moms for Marijuana. This is an outrage that is played out in America every 42 seconds.
He sits handcuffed on his couch, helpless. They’re ransacking his house. The sound of glass breaking and drawers hitting the floor enrage him with each crash. He hears his nightstand drawer open. His skin chills. They’re gonna find it.
Just seventeen minutes ago, they were having snacks before homework time began. Fruit roll-ups and milk. Now, he can hear his children crying in the next room, being soothed by the same voices which ordered them to stand against the wall while guns trained on their little heads.
His blood boils. His babies. Sniffling and quivering in fear. They can’t see him as he watches his life going up in flames. They only know the heavily armored men with the guns are suddenly trying to calm them after scaring them to death. After seeing the scary men throw their father to the floor and handcuff him. After seeing their house torn up by these same men.
And Daddy’s always told them police are the good guys. But their Dachshund lies in the corner, shot to death. She barked too loud and nipped at their feet, trying to protect her family.
The officers saunter into the living room with a small wooden pipe and a measly bag of marijuana shake. It’s all he could afford after paying for school supplies. But it helps his epilepsy.
The cop’s voice is jubilant as he crows, “Sir, this is a felony. There are seeds in here. Are you planning to grow your own? That’s intent to cultivate.”
His blood chills. Jail. Court. Child Protective Services. Ruination. Maybe he should have just taken the pharmaceuticals, even though they were killing his liver.
As he’s read his Miranda Rights and is taken into custody, he watches his bawling children being led out into a stranger’s car. They’re screaming for their Daddy and for the man not to make them go.
The epileptic father – who was just about to start homework time – is escorted out of his ruined home over less than an eighth of marijuana and an old wooden pipe.
This is YOUR America. Aren’t you proud?
~~written for MOMS FOR MARIJUANA by Deborah Morgan