Tough Love

You can’t throw a rock around this nation without breaking a window of a drug rehabilitation group, and TV has many segments on drug deaths. Twenty-eight deaths last month in Ohio alone.
I’m sorry, but I don’t care. Not one of those drug users was dragged off the streets and forcibly injected. No one forces drinks down someone who becomes a drunk. (Alcoholism runs in my family, so I limit myself to perhaps three drinks a month, to make certain I don’t trigger any gene that might have sneaked into my body.

I had zero tolerance for drunks when I was a Navy man for 26 years — I decked more than a handful of fellow Sailors who insulted me, or my wife — and each braced me the next day, not to apologize but to make excuses, invariably saying, “Hey, I was drunk.”

My reply was always, “I didn’t get you drunk!” I didn’t, and I am not taking guff from those who do.

Yes, I am intolerant. No one has to tell me that I do not tolerate bad behavior. If someone wants to shoot up, be my guest, and if you call me for help the last thing you will hear is the click as I close the door behind me. Do I feel sorry for those remaining loved ones who must mourn…of course.  

The remaining loved ones are the victims. The addicts are voluntary victims, they decided to be junkies. Should the taking of drugs be a death sentence? No, but it is a risk voluntarily accepted.

Drugs are a bane of our society. Like smoking, kids take drug use up before their brains are fully cooked, and breaking the habits can cost families terribly. 

I proposed in one of my columns that we place a town in the middle of the Mojave desert and let junkies go there instead of jail. Give them free drugs, food and housing. The only way they can get back into society is to get clean enough to walk across the desert to rejoin society. They have a choice — live a drug life, or be a member of society.

Tough love. 

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