08
December
December
I had a drug problem when I was young:
I was drug to church on Sunday mornings and for weddings and funerals.
I was drug to family reunions.
I was drug by my ears when I was disrespectful to adults.
I was 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 bad word.
I was drug to the homes of family, friends and neighbors to help out and help mow yards, repair the clothesline, or chop firewood; and, if my mother knew that I took a single dime as a tip for this kindness, she would have drug me back to the woodshed.
God bless the parents who drugged us.
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