What I've Been Taught

I've been thinking about how interesting it is that time changes so many things.
Something that floated around FB this last week:

My curfew was the yard light at my house, my mom didn't call my cell, she called my name, I played outside w/ friends, not online. If I didn't eat what mom cooked, I didn't eat. Sanitizer didn't exist, but you COULD get your mouth washed out w/ soap. I rode a bike w/o helmet, getting dirty was OK, & neighbors cared as much as your parents. Re- post if you drank water from a garden hose & survived!

I got this next one from my sweet friend Leslie Nelson (she posted on FB some time ago.) Her beautiful daughter is one of my dearest friends Paige who've I mentioned in previous blogs. This appeared in a news article. I don't know who wrote it or what newspaper, but I love it.

Different Drug Problem
Editors Note: The following letter has appeared on the Internet and viewed by many readers. Many felt it would be appropriate for the readers of Avoyelles Parish.

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 the 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 bed and cockleburs out of dada's fields. I was drug to 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 fire wood, 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 or think. They are stronger than cocaine, crack, or heroine; and if today's children had this kind of drug problem, America would be a much better place. God bless the parents that drugged us.