GOD BLESS 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 thread-joining 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 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 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 profane four-letter word.
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, neighbors to help out some poor soul who had no one to mow the yard, repair the clothesline, or chop some firewood; and, if mother had ever known that I took a single dime as a tip for this kindness, she wood 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. The world would be a better place.
Author unknown.
"To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
