A truer message was never written! God rest the souls of our parents who were examples of moral behavior and who guided us in learning right from wrong and held our feet to the fire when we veered from the straight and narrow.

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 (not really, just spanked) 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 and Australia would be better places.

God bless the parents who drugged us.

A truer message was never written! God rest the souls of our parents who were examples of moral behavior and who guided us in learning right from wrong and held our feet to the fire when we veered from the straight and narrow.

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 (not really, just spanked) 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 and Australia would be better places.

God bless the parents who drugged us.

A truer message was never written! God rest the souls of our parents who were examples of moral behavior and who guided us in learning right from wrong and held our feet to the fire when we veered from the straight and narrow.

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 (not really, just spanked) 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 and Australia would be better places.

God bless the parents who drugged us.

A truer message was never written! God rest the souls of our parents who were examples of moral behavior and who guided us in learning right from wrong and held our feet to the fire when we veered from the straight and narrow.

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 (not really, just spanked) 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 and Australia would be better places.

God bless the parents who drugged us.

A truer message was never written! God rest the souls of our parents who were examples of moral behavior and who guided us in learning right from wrong and held our feet to the fire when we veered from the straight and narrow.

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 (not really, just spanked) 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 and Australia would be better places.

God bless the parents who drugged us.