Cute letter to the Editor:
The other day, someone at a store in our town read that the Meth lab had been found in an old farmhouse in the adjoining county and he asked he a rhetorical question, "Why didn't we have a drug problem when you and I were growing up?"
I replied, I had a drub 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 drub 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 flower beds and cockleburs out of dad's fields. I was drug to the homes of family, friends and neighbors to help out some poor soul sho had no one to mow their yard, repair the clothesline, or chop some firewood, and, if my mother had every known I took a single dime as a tip for this kidness, she would have drug me back to the woodshed.
Those drugs are still in my viens and they affect my behavior in everything I do, say or think. The 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.
*I can still taste the soap in my mouth!*
cute!
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