Jerry Davich: Why I love the smell of pot, even though I don't smoke it

“Weed heads.”

This is how the emcee described hundreds of fans who attended the 40th anniversary outdoor concert of my favorite band, Poi Dog Pondering, where the sweet aroma of marijuana was definitely in the air. And I loved every whiff of it.

I seem to have a hypersensitivity to the smell of pot, though I’ve never smoked it. I call it my superpower. In public places, I can walk, run or bike past this aroma and immediately stop to enjoy the moment. I’ve done it at parks, alleys, festivals, sidewalks and, of course, music concerts.

“We will have some moments tonight,” Stevie Nicks told fans at another outdoor music venue two years ago.

The legendary enchantress cast a spell on her audience that night as a brightly lighted moon hovered over the stage. The aroma of pot swirled around the crowd like Nicks twirls around a microphone stand. It was the perfect fragrance for that outdoor show. Well, for any entertainment event, I say.

I prefer the scent of burning marijuana to any other kind of smoking, especially cigarettes. I was raised in homes filled with the constant haze of cigarette smoke, where the phrase “secondhand smoke” was ignored or laughed at. I never took a drag, but I was a trusty accomplice for my nicotine-addicted family members.

“Hello, please sell three packs of Virginia Slims menthol to my grandson. Thank you, Diana Davich.”

Every one of the these letters on crinkled notepaper was written in sloppy cursive by my grandmother. Simple. Polite. To the point. With just a hint of elderly desperation.

I would tuck the folded letter into my back pocket and fill my front pockets with loose change that my grandma had lying around her home. Every quarter counted back then, you know.

Then I would make the walking pilgrimage from her home to the nearest gas station.

I’d walk up to the front counter, empty my pockets and stand there quietly with the handwritten note, as if I was waiting for a Communion wafer at church on Sunday. Not once was I told "no" by anyone behind the counter. He or she would count up the change and let me know if there was any left for some candy. For me.

Cigarette smoking was part of my life as a kid. My dad, aunt, uncle, cousins and most neighbors smoked tobacco. It was as common as lung cancer. Fortunately, I didn’t get hooked.

In my 20s, I began enjoying the aroma of pot, thanks to my brother, Joe, who smoked joints like the Marlboro Man smoked cigarettes. The times when we were together often involved a small plastic baggie of weed, rolling papers and a cheap lighter — the holy trinity of paraphernalia for pot smokers.

Back then, it was more of a clandestine obsession for pot smokers. Today, it’s much more ubiquitous and socially acceptable with most Americans living in states where marijuana is legal in some form. Most U.S. adults support legalization, according to the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws, or NORML. But it still has its critics, including many of my readers.

“I find it incongruous that we won't allow people to smoke cigarettes in buildings but marijuana is smoked in houses and cars now despite being illegal in our state,” one woman wrote to me. “I can smell marijuana coming from inside four of my neighbors’ houses and from cars with all windows closed when driving down the street. “

“The worst is when in a store and someone reeks of it. I've smelled smokers that didn't smell that bad!” she wrote. “Now it smells like a skunk and permeates everything. I'm almost, but not quite ready, to let smokers smoke inside again!”

I respectfully disagree.

Smoking cigarettes harms nearly every organ of the body. Smoking pot only harms brain cells. (Just kidding.) It’s the smell of cigarettes that bothers me. Not a disdain for smokers. I don’t care about their preferred addiction. I have some of my own. It’s the secondhand smoke I avoid at every encounter.

Not so much with the scent of weed, pot, grass, ganja, Mary Jane or whatever you prefer to call it. I’ve been known to stop in my tracks, take in a deep breath, and carry on with a smile on my face. This happened again recently as I biked along an overpass at a park near my home. I returned home on the same route to smell it again.

There’s just something about it. Maybe it’s because I was raised on Cheech and Chong while growing up with pot smokers all over the place. Or maybe it’s because I was born on April 20, aka 4/20. True story.

One thing is for sure. The cannabis culture is only expanding in our society.

Marijuana use is at an all-time high in our country. In the past decade alone, Americans reporting that they smoke marijuana has doubled, from 7% to 13% from 2013 to 2023, according to a national poll from Gallup.

Just look around to watch it grow. Better yet, just take a deep breath.