April 20th has been a rather eventful day throughout history. On a dark note, it is Adolf Hitler's birthday, but it's also the anniversary of the Supreme Court decision to use busing to desegregate schools. It's the anniversary of the Columbine school shootings and the isolation of the radioactive element radium (Thanks NYTimes). Today is also the official day of mourning for the victims at Virginia Tech.
But for a lot of people, 4/20 is the national pot-smoking holiday, thanks to an urban legend about police codes that has evolved into an excuse to toke up and a celebration of the practice. While studying abroad in London, I dated a worshipper at the altar of THC, and quickly realized that he was a "Fun Bobby" type. Meaning, a la Friends, that he was no fun unless some kind of restricted substance was involved.
I decided that it was time to break up with Bobby after we had booked a group trip to Amsterdam. In 2001, April 20 fell on a Friday when we didn't have classes, so for Bobby it was like making a pilgrimage to Mecca to be able to smoke legal marijuana in Amsterdam on 4/20 at 4:20.
I was more excited to go and explore the city, including Anne Frank's house, the Van Gogh museum and the red light district. (I had just read John Irving's A Widow for One Year and was fascinated with the unionization of sex workers. In the novel, the main character researches and writes a novel based around a prostitution mystery.) I was also looking forward to being on my own in a new city.
Needless to say, Bobby had his fun in a bar filled with dredlocked Americans, I saw my museums, and there was a bit of bickering. I decided to rent a bike (the preferred form of transportation in the Dutch city) and purposefully get lost. It was a beautiful day--the tulips were in bloom, the sun was out, the air was refreshingly cool, and everyone seemed to be in a good mood.
April 20th has become my own kind of holiday-- a day that I remember for the way that I took big mental steps toward independence and adulthood. This year the date landed on a Friday again, the sun is out, and I can't help but remember the feeling of a spring breeze on my ears as I pedaled over cobblestones and glanced at my ever-changing reflection in the canals.
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