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?''
replied: I had a drug problem when I was young:
I was drug
to church on Sunday morning.
was drug to church for weddings and funerals.
was drug to family reunions and community socials no matter
was drug by my ears when I was disrespectful to adults.
was also drug to the woodshed when I disobeyed my parents,
told a lie, brought home a bad report card, did
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.
was drug to the kitchen sink to have my mouth washed out with
soap if I uttered a profane four-letter word.
was drug out to pull weeds in mom's garden and flower beds
and cockleburs out of dad's fields.
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;
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
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.
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