My step-daughter is in high school. She is only 14 but has the
body of an 18-year old. The problem is she has the mind of a
10-old. We have told her no dating in cars until she is 16.
All hell broke out around here when your column appeared.
Thanks for nothing - Reader From The Old School

Dear O.S.: Go back and read my advice again. Then read it to
your step-daughter. I said a high school girl who has
integrity and a record of dependability should be permitted to
date. According to your letter, that child has neither. You're
on solid ground, Mother. Don't let her beat you down.

Letter 2
Dear Ann Landers: Is our daughter normal? Am I crazy or what?
Linda is 16, doesn't lift a finger around the house, yells
bloody murder if I misplace something that SHE should have put
away. She has a tantrum if I don't have her blouses pressed in
time. If I ask her to run an errand for me, she says I'm
exploiting her. I'm exhausted and disgusted. What goes?
- Beat Mom.

Dear Mom: who raised that vegetable? When you plant onions,
don't expect lilacs to bloom.

Letter 3

Dear Ann Landers: I read the letter from the young woman who
went to the funeral of her best friend and couldn't shed a
tear. My heart went out to her, even though my problem is just
the opposite.
I can cry if a girl I work with tells me she left her change
purse in the ladies' room and it had $2 in it. A sad movie
starts me bawling so loud my husband has told me repeatedly,
"If you don't cut that out, I'm going to move to another row
and act like I don't know you."

I cry at weddings, bar mitzvahs, christenings, graduations and
birthday parties. Every time I hear "God Bless America," tears
run down my cheeks and I streak my makeup.

Am I some kind of nut? Why do I feel everything so strongly?
Please explain, Ann. And if you print my letter in the paper,
I just know I'll be so thrilled, I'll bawl my head off -
Weepers finders

Dear W.F.: Here's your letter. Now go get a handkerchief and
wipe your eyes so you can read it.
You're in better shape than the woman who couldn't shed a tear
at her best friend's funeral. Stop feeling embarrassed because
you are sensitive person and your emotions are close to the
surface. What the world needs is more people who care and
aren't ashamed to show it.

Letter 4
Dear Ann Landers: I'd like to delve further into your
response: "Hard work never killed anybody." Maybe hard work
never killed anybody, but it sure has destroyed a lot of
marriages. The man who is obsessed with his job is just as
hooked as the alcoholic, the junkie, or the compulsive
gambler. The big difference is that the "work freak" is
admired by society, considered a "go-getter." The other guys
are considered "sick" or "bums."

Having followed your column for several years, I am well aware
that you are a staunch supporter of the Work Ethic. From what
I've heard, both you and your husband are extremely energetic
and super-achievers. Well, not everybody possesses that kind
of drive or wants that kind of life.

More and more marriages are breaking up because husbands are
spending all their time and energy piling up money. The final
battle cry of the driven loon is, "Look how hard I work to
provide my family with something better! All I get is
criticism." What he DIDN'T provide his family with was his
presence when they needed him. Sign me Ex-wife.

Dear Ex: The man who puts in so many hours at his job that his
family gets no time or attention is shortchanging them AND
himself. Those dynamos pay a big price for their so-called
success. Often they end up with a large net worth, a bleeding
ulcer, and no relationship with a wife or child.

But not all work freaks fall into that category. Some (myself,
for example) make plenty of time for family, friends, worthy
causes, and fun travel. I enjoy the challenge, the excitement,
and the opportunity for growth that my work provides. But I'm
not actually working for the steak. It's the sizzle that
fascinates me.

Letter 5
Dear Ann Landers: I buried my husband yesterday. We were
married for 23 years. My hand is not very steady but I must
write this letter. Perhaps it is grief therapy for myself, but
whatever the reason I hope you will not think I am out of my
head.
Our marriage was what you might call "average." We had more
than our share of arguments but on balance we had more fun
together than most couples our age. I am Italian and Bill was
Irish. Maybe that explains a few things. Anyway, I loved him
very much and I know he loved me.

We had an argument Wednesday night. It was a bitter quarrel
and we both said things we shouldn't have. Thursday morning I
fixed Bill a good breakfast but we didn't speak. I figured
we'd patch things up at supper. That afternoon at 4 o'clock he
was dead. It was a massive heart attack, his first. By the
time I reached the hospital, he was gone.

Years ago you gave some advice on how to have a good marriage.
You said, "Never go to bed mad." How I wish I had taken that
advice. It's awful to know that our last words were angry
ones.

I hope every married couple who reads this will ask themselves
this question: "If I never see my beloved again, what were the
last words we spoke to one another?" that's something to think
about, isn't it? - Too Late For Me

Dear Friend: Yes, it is. And I thank you for starting a lot of
people thinking. God bless you.

Letter 6
Dear Abby: I think it's about time girls got over this
ridiculous hangup of refusing to give a guy a goodnight kiss.
A goodnight kiss is just an expression of thanks. Why hurt a
guy's feelings by turning him down?

There are all kinds of kisses. A goodnight kiss is one way of
saying, "Thanks for taking me out and spending your
hard-earned money on me." - A Sensitive Guy.
Dear Sensitive: Sorry, but I don't believe a girl should kiss
a guy for taking her out and spending his hard-earned money on
her. She might prefer to give him the case and call it square.

A kiss should say, "I like you." Not "Thank you."

Letter 7

Dear Abby: On Christmas Day a relative with whom I had been on
the outs for four years telephoned me and said "There is no
sense in our being mad at each other for the rest of our
lives. Let's be friends again!"
I wept.

He later told me that he had been inspired to call me after
reading in your column. "Call up an enemy today and bury the
hatchet."

Thanks a million, Abby. - De Espana
Dear De" De nada!

Note: de nada (Spanish) equivalent to "you're welcome" or
"don't mention it."