My first attempt at growing my own came at age 15, when I was still living in the foster home.
There were eleven of us kids there, and the foster parents never cared what we did as long as we went to school and kept out of trouble.
Although I knew that growing pot in the attic could lead to trouble, I was bound and determined to figure it out. If I could grow my own I would have an instant source of revenue, which I would need if I wanted to venture out on my own one day. I had tried smoking marijuana few times before, because that was the perfect age to try it out, but I also knew not to get high off my own supply. The more cannabis I smoked, the less I could sell, so it was more profitable for me to stay sober. I would smoke some marijuana every once in a while, but I was very conservative because I wanted to sell all I could and save that money. I had a mason jar I kept buried out in the yard, and that is where I hid the profits from my marijuana operations. After a year, I had three different jars, and all them were full. Around that same time, my foster parents found my cannabis plants, but thankfully they didn’t want to bust me. They just solicited a bribe, so I had to give them marijuana every once in a while so they would let me keep doing business. That is the price of doing business, I guess.