God bless parents who drugged us!

AN EMAIL FORWARD I RECIEVED

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 weddingsand 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 ofthe teacher or the preacher, or if I didn't put forth my best effort ineverything 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 flower beds and cocklebursout of dad's fields. I was drug to the homes of family, friends, and neighbors to help outsome poor soul who had no one to mow the yard, repair the clothesline, orchop 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 ineverything I do, say, and think. They are stronger than cocaine, crack, orheroin; and, if today's children had this kind of drug problem, North America would be a better place.