I WAS WAS DRUGGED:
The other day I was talking to someone at a store in our town who read
that a Methamphetamine lab had been found in an old farmhouse in the
adjoining county and asked me 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 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 Pastor, 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. I was drug to the homes of neighbors to help mow the
yard, repair the clothesline, and if my mother had ever known that I
took a single dime as a tip for this kindness, my dad 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 and Canada would be better places.
God bless the parents who drugged us.
