Acid for the Children: A Memoir

by Flea

Jack Irons was my brother; a loyal friend and great drummer who was always down to jam. He had a birthday party at his house and I wanted to get him a crazy gift, one different than any he’d ever receive. So, I pooped in a ziplock plastic bag and wrapped it up beautifully with ribbons in fancy wrapping paper. The craziest gift ever! We had a lot of poop humor amongst us. Come present unwrapping time we sat in his bedroom, his parents and sister were also there, and he opened up cool gifts. When he got to mine and unwrapped it with anticipation, he realized what it was and laughed and yelled out, “Oh god, eww!” Out to the garbage bin it went. He got the joke, that I was being as ridiculous as possible, but I saw his parents look at me with disgust, and Hillel shot me a “that is not funny” look. Later on, Hillel told me I had fucked up. For a different friend’s birthday in the recent past, a guy whom I didn’t even care about like I did Jack, I’d stolen an armful of records from Music Plus on the way to the party, and given him twenty albums. I hadn’t even thought about it. Hillel said, “You give that dude a bunch of great records and you give Jack your disgusting smelly SHIT???” Of course, Hillel was right. I felt like an asshole. The weird thing was, in a way I was right too. I was foolishly excited about Jack’s poop gift. I really wanted it to be something he would never forget, and in that I succeeded. It still comes up now forty years later. (“Dude, I’m so sorry about th...