God bless mothers who drugged us!

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 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 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 profane four-letter word.
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 who had no one to mow the yard, repair the clothesline, or chop 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 in everything
I do, say, and think. They are stronger than cocaine, crack, or heroin;
and, if today's children had this kind of drug problem, America would be a
better place.

~author unknown~

You were fortunate. My mother never dragged me anywhere, even when I was sick - just tossed me an aspirin from across the room when I was hallucinating from a fever.

We tried church, but we got kicked out because everyone thought mom was "evil." I tried another church on my own, but got pushed out because I was too vocal about their hatred for black people and non-Christians. I also wasn't allowed to talk of my problems at home because it was considered a "personal family problem." I'm glad now I didn't because they might have taken me away from my father and sister and placed me in foster care.

Fire and brimstone talk wouldn't have helped either. I got enough of that at home (got caught playing with matches once and mom made me hold my finger in the fire til SHE said it was okay to take it out).

What kept me out of the "meth labs" back then was watching my friends die from heroin overdoses, slowly kill themselves with cocaine, or become permanently insane after taking too much LSD - or mom trying to kill herself with alcohol and sleeping pills.

What kept me out of the meth labs was having a caring teacher actually teach me and help me get a job where I could afford to move out of my abusive setting. Later, it was a caring employer who showed me how to behave in this crazy world - and care about crazy people.

I am so sorry for all you have suffered Kathy, from illness and from uncaring people Sure am glad it made you into someone who cares


Darlene, thanks for a lighthearted look at growing up "drugged"

Amen,I can relate to everything in that poem,almost.

Have a great weekend,K.