GOD BLESS THE PARENTS THAT 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,
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 profanity.
I was drug out to pull weeds in mom's garden and flowerbeds and
cocklebur's 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, or 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.

God bless the parents who drugged us.