The other day, someone at a store, in our town, read that a methamphetamine lab had been found in an old farmhouse in the adjoining county, and he asked me a rhetorical question, "Why didn't we have a drug problem when you and I were growing up?" I replied, "I had a drug problem when I was young. I was drug to church on Sunday mornings. I was drug to church for weddings and funerals. I was drug to family reunions and community socials, no matter 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 or told a lie, brought home a bad report card, did not speak with respect, spoke ill of the teacher or preacher, or if I 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 Mom's garden and flowerbeds and cockleburs out of dad's fields. I was drug to the homes of family, friends and neighbors to help out some poor soul who had no one to mow the yard, 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."
Those drugs are still in my veins and they affect my behavior in everything I do, say 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!
Author Unknown - Borrowed from the Internet.
