Mothers Who Drugged Us!

 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 morning. 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, told a lie, did not

 speak with respect, spoke ill of the teacher or the 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 flower beds 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, and 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.

 

 ~author unknown~

 

 God bless the parents who drugged us.