in highschool (1982ish) i smoked with a buddy at his house. his mom hit the bong, but the dad didn't. His opinion was that we were going to do it anyway and better in a house than out driving around. Im not talking about living in a trailer parents. they had real jobs, a nice house and successful kids. It was kinda trippy.
then after some 30 years of annual flyfishing trips with my dad, a couple years ago we shared a joint (i brought) at the campfire. Since then, i haven't really smoked with him, but i do provide him with the occasional gift. He's getting near the end now i guess. I'm glad i did something i always wanted to do with him.