A good drug problem to have

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For years — I don’t remember how many — I’ve been hammering out columns for this newspaper. I do remember that day when my boss the editor — the late Alan Resch — in kind of an off-hand way said to me, “Start a column.”

That was about 1991 or so and since then, I’ve had one every week except when there was too much copy or I was late at deadline or otherwise indisposed.

As I hammer out this weekly exercise, I’ve noticed a difference. Some columns are born of great inspiration; some almost write themselves; others are born from great desperation. If you’ve been reading them very long, you’ve likely noticed more of the third kind than the other two.

But as I’ve done them, I’m reminded more and more of a line in the Book of Ecclesiastes that says, “There’s nothing new under the sun.” I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to mean that human nature and all the things that trouble us today aren’t new just to us but instead have been around since time began.

But by the same token I’ve also come to understand that truth is truth no matter where you find it and that I don’t have to be the one and only bearer of it, and that if I can find it somewhere else it’s OK to share it because it’s still the truth even if it isn’t original with me.

With all that in mind, I want to share with you a piece a friend passed on to me some time ago, and let me know later if you found any truth in it.

It seems, the story goes, that a Methamphetamine lab had been found in an old farmhouse in a nearby county. As two friends were discussing the news, one turned to the other and asked the rhetorical question, “Why didn’t we have drug problems when we were growing up?”

To that, his friend replied this way: “I did have a drug problem when I was young.”

I was drug to church on Sunday mornings. 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 profanity. 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 home 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 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 heroin and, if today’s children had this kind of drug problem, America would be a better place.

God bless the parents who drugged us.

Bob Wachs is a native of Chatham County and retired long-time managing editor of the Chatham News/Chatham Record, having written a weekly column for more than 30 years. During most of his time with the newspapers, he was also a bi-vocational pastor and today serves Bear Creek Baptist Church for the second time as pastor.