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The other day someone at a store in our town read that a meth lab had been found in an old farmhouse in the adjoining town and asked a rhetorical question, " Why didn't we have a drug problem when you and I were growing up?"
I replied that I had a drug problem when I was young. I was drug to church on Sunday morning. I was drug to church for weddings and funerals. I was drug to family reunions and community socials no matter what the weather.
I was drug by my ears when I was disrespectful to adults. I was also drug to the woodshed when I disobeyed my parents, told a lie, brought home a bad report card, did not speak with respect, spoke ill of the teacher or the preacher, or didn't put forth my best effort in everything that was asked of me.
I was drug to the kitchen sink to have my mouth washed out with soap if I uttered a profanity. I was drug out to pull weeds in my mom's garden and flower beds and cockle-burrs out of dad's fields. I was drug to the homes of family and friends and neighbors to help out some poor soul who had no one to mow the lawn, repair the clothesline or chop some firewood and if my mother had ever known that I took a single dime as a tip for this kindness she would have drug me back to the woodshed.
These drugs are still in my veins and they affect my behavior in everything I say, do or think. They are stronger than cocaine, crack or heroin and if today's children had this kind of drug problem America would be a better place.
God bless the parents who drugged us.
