Overstanding Jah

There's something physically creepy that happens to your body when you hear your 16 year old son say, "Mom, I met a girl." Something like cold shivery nausea, starting in your throat, kicking and screaming it's way through your stomach, then quickly making it's way to your asshole. This happened to me about a week ago.
This afternoon, the same, once innocent and beautiful son of mine asked for some help putting on a Rasta friendship bracelet this girl gave him. While I was trying to tie it, he asked me if I knew what the colors represented. I said something like the green probably stands for pot, which he better not be fucking smoking. Not that I'm against marijuana, I just would prefer that his brain stop growing before he fucks with it, which I've explained to him many, many times.
Then I asked him who this chick was that gave it to him. Of course it was some name that I can't pronounce, spell or remember, and she's "really cool." Eeeek.
So then I considered saying that red stands for the blood from abortion, or the bloody pulp that will be the remains of his body if he even thinks about having un-safe sex, but I found a nicer way to put it. I'll spare the details. Anyway, when I finally shut up, he told me what the colors meant.

Red symbolizes the blood of the people, yellow stands for gold, and green stands for the land.

After our talk, I realized that I don't know much about Rastafarians, so I spent some time tonight reading about the religion. I learned a lot about it, but I'm really tired and I've got new, yummy sheets on my bed.
Here's a pretty informative site if you're interested in reading more about the concept of oneness. It's totally "irie."

Rastafarianism