God Bless Mothers Who Drugged Us

[Tink]

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 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.