My father gave me my first hit of heroin

Crime was part of my life from my earliest memory. Not just the seedy, dark kind, but the day-to-day-to-pay-the-bills crime. This included theft, fraud, robbery and drug-dealing. Mum had left us when I was three. Dad did whatever he could to keep us going. Crime was how we survived, and as I grew older it became a father and son business.

Dad was first released from prison in 1982. We were living in a smart flat in Kensington and he'd gone straight back to dealing drugs to bring in money - getting a job wasn't even on his radar. Part of our income came from a 2kg block of Peruvian cocaine he was holding for a mate. Dad woke me up on my 16th birthday with a massive line of coke neatly presented on an antique mirror. I loved it. It never felt as if he was being irresponsible. It was normal to me.

A few weeks later, I was watching him dealing with two new customers. They were buying heroin. I'd been snorting a lot of coke and had overdone it. The hash was no longer balancing the buzz of the coke. I wanted something stronger. Dad clearly thought smack was something special - he told me it calmed the erratic, euphoric hit of cocaine. I became convinced this was what I needed for my amphetamine-frayed nerves. I'd asked him for heroin plenty of times, but he'd always flatly refused. When it started to look as if I was going to ruin this transaction with the new customers, he took me into the kitchen.

"Look, kid, I don't know what you're up to, but we need their business - I have to pay the rent." He took out a six-inch square of silver foil from the cupboard. "You can have some of this, but only a little, then piss off to your room and let me seal the deal."

My heart beat faster. This was the rite of passage I'd been waiting for, and another step deeper into Dad's world. I knew what to do - I'd seen him do it plenty of times. The narcotic rush that ran through my body was physical and emotional. I instantly understood why Dad loved it so much. It made everything easier, happier and safer. In that moment I felt a deeper connection to my father. It sounds shocking but, for me, it was no different from your average father and son sharing their first quiet pint down the local pub.

This initiation into the world of class As happened at a time when I was terrified of what the future held. Dad had been locked up for the previous three years, and had missed my transition from boy to teenager. We had a lot of catching up to do.

My smack habit developed quickly, partly from the little Dad gave me to calm me down and partly from the stuff I nicked off him to keep me stoned. I once angrily asked him why he gave it to me and he told me he wanted to keep me off the streets. At least this way he could "keep an eye on me". It was a twisted paternal protectiveness that led to our relationship breaking down completely, and ended with him back in prison and me locked up for the first time in my life.

My father was essentially lazy; crime was a means to getting us to a better place. Long-term, he wanted me to go to college; get some qualifications and a "proper" job. He was well-intentioned, but hopelessly deluded by the painkilling drugs he loved so much.

A while back I heard that the dysfunction our parents hand down to us gives us something to work with, something to motivate us out of the gutter; that's if we're lucky enough to survive our early years. Giving me heroin was a mistake my father grew to regret deeply - I knew this because he told me, many times. It accelerated me to a place to which I was already heading. And, looking back, the quicker I got there the better. My destination was prison, for dealing and taking drugs.

At 21, I was released on bail to go into rehab and I was able to do what my father never managed through all his years in prison, reading books and meditating: I got clean from drugs and alcohol, and I've stayed clean ever since.

That day in the kitchen had a dark beauty to it. Taking drugs was part of the way my father and I connected. I'm thankful I was able to get a little closer to him during that time. Heroin took my father's life, through a deliberate overdose 16 years ago. Bizarrely, it gave me mine. I still love and miss him deeply.
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source: The Guardian, http://www.guardian.co.uk