My Parents Drugged Me

A retired friend of mine and I were at the local Tim Hortons the other day having coffee and reading the morning paper.  My friend was reading about how a methamphetamine lab had been found in an old farmhouse in the adjoining county.  He put down his paper, took a sip of his coffee, looked at me and said, "Why didn't we have a drug problem when we were growing up?"

I replied, "I had a drug problem when I was growing up, but it wasn't my fault.  My parents and grandparents drugged me.  They drug me to church on Sunday morning.  I was drug to family reunions no matter how far away or what the weather."

I was drug by my ears when I was disrespectful.  I was drug to the woodshed when I told a lie, sassed my parents or didn't do what I was told.  I was drug to the kitchen sink to have my mouth washed out with soap if I used the Lord's name in vain or uttered any word that remotely resembled swearing or profanity.

I was drug out to pull weeds in the garden.  I was drug to the fields to pick the rocks and harvest the crops.  I was drug to the homes of family, friends and neighbors to help out some poor soul who had no one to mow the lawn, chop some wood, or run an errand.  And if my dad had ever known that I took a single dime as a tip for this kindness, he would have drug me back to the woodshed.

I winked at my friend and said, "Those drugs are still in my veins and they affect everything I do, say, and think. If parents today would drug their kids like I was, there wouldn't be a cocaine or crack problem and there wouldn't be a methamphetamine lab next door".