Dear Ann Landers, I have been married for three years, and it is obvious that my mother does not like my wife. I can deal with that, but I'm becoming increasingly upset by the way Mom behaves around "Amelia."
Two weeks ago, there was a milestone family affair, and we hired a professional photographer to take pictures. As we were preparing to pose for the photo shoot, my mother informed Amelia that she could not be in the pictures because she was not a blood relative and therefore not a family member. My wife stepped out, but I could see she was very hurt.
There have been other instances, as well. One evening when several of us went to the theater together, Mom happened to end up sitting next to Amelia. She abruptly stood up, moved to the other side of the row and announced, "I want to sit next to my son."
I have asked my mother to please stop treating Amelia so shabbily, but she insists she has nothing against my wife and accuses me of being overly sensitive. I hope you can help me. -- Not Mama's Boy in Missouri
Dear Missouri, Your signature does not match your letter. You certainly sound like a mama's boy to me, and a gutless one at that.
Why did you not speak up on your wife's behalf when your mother decided Amelia couldn't be in the family pictures because she wasn't a blood relative? And when your mother demanded to sit next to you in the theater, why didn't you arrange the seating so your wife could be on the other side?
As long as you permit your mother to abuse Amelia, she is going to do it. It's high time you asserted yourself, sonny boy. Check out the Bible, where it says, "Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother and shall cleave to his wife, and they shall be one flesh." Copy that directive on a piece of paper, and tape it to your bathroom mirror.
Dear Ann Landers, Will you please say something on behalf of recovering stroke victims? I had a stroke five years ago.
My left side was paralyzed, my speech was unrecognizable and the prognosis was that I would leave the hospital in a wheelchair. Through sheer determination, I walked out with a cane. My manual dexterity has returned, and my voice and speech have made a major recovery. My legs are still shaky, but I can walk.
People need to know that a stroke can mess up a person's emotions. One tends to laugh at the most inappropriate times and cry at the drop of a hat. Both are uncontrollable.
After my recovery, I had a business making and repairing golf clubs. When I started to deal with strangers, the business went downhill. Recently, a woman at my pharmacy told me she had run into a couple who had been in my shop. They asked what was wrong with me because I sometimes laughed when nothing was funny. Most people think you are mentally incompetent if you do this. I have a Bachelor of Arts in psychology and a Master of Business Administration. I taught myself to design Web sites at the age of 70. I am far from being an idiot. Please tell them. -- Bill in Illinois
Dear Bill, You told them in a way far better than I could have. Thank you for educating millions of people today. They never will look at a stroke victim the same way again. Bless you, Bill.
Dear Ann Landers, A few years ago, you printed a poem in your column. I do not remember the name of it, but some of the lines were: "Kisses aren't promises" and "Even sunshine burns if you get too much."
I would dearly love to have another copy of that poem because it touched me deeply. I hope you can find it and print it again. -- L.B. in Cordova, Tenn.
Dear L.B., That poem is one of the most requested by my readers. I am pleased to print it again for you and others who have asked. Here it is:
After a While
by Veronica A. Shoffstall
After a while, you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't mean security,
And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,
And you learn to build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans.
And futures have a way of falling down in midflight.
After a while, you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure ...
That you really are strong.
And you really do have worth.
And you learn and learn ...
With every goodbye, you learn.
Dear Ann Landers, I was run over by a drunk driver 21 years ago. As a result, my right arm is paralyzed, and my right leg is partially paralyzed and shorter than the left. I walk with a crutch.
I am completely independent and self-sufficient, but whenever I am out in public, someone asks, "What happened to you?" Not a day goes by that some ignorant jerk doesn't confront me with that rude question. Recently, a neighbor's 7-year-old grandson imitated the way I walk in front of his friends. They thought it was hilarious. Parents should teach their children that it is cruel to make fun of a handicapped person.
The able-bodied cannot comprehend the embarrassment, humiliation and struggle we must endure. Please tell your readers that we should be treated with respect, not stared at or questioned. Thank you. - Managing in Mesa, Ariz.
Dear Mesa, Your letter should go a long way toward educating those who are insensitive to the disabled. I hope parents of young children will take special note of what you have written.
Dear Ann Landers, Most of the world works by day and sleeps by night. But many people do their jobs while everyone else sleeps -- police officers, nurses, firefighters, waitresses, truck drivers, telephone operators, cab drivers, janitors, security guards and night-shift workers. I am a woman who manages a very busy bar, which means I work late hours six nights a week.
Some people have the crazy idea that I get paid to "party." Actually, I monitor the bartenders and have to decide which customers have had enough. I rarely get to sit down. Meanwhile, my husband seldom gets to stand up. "Mike" is a disc jockey. He is expected to be cheerful and funny and sound as if he is having a ball, even when he has a killer headache or the flu.
I get home around 4 a.m. Mike gets home about 5:30 a.m. We eat supper together and go to bed when the sun comes up. Then, the phone starts to ring. People think because we work at night, we have the whole day free. Some of our friends and family members have actually said, "You sure have it easy. You can sleep all day." Where do people get that nutty idea?
Night workers are just like everybody else. We spend eight hours at work, a couple of hours commuting and running errands, a few hours doing marketing, cooking and household chores, and if we are lucky, we get six or seven hours of sleep. Will you please say a few kind words for us night owls? We could use a little sympathy. -- Sleepless in New Orleans
Dear Sleepless, God bless you night owls. If it weren't for you, the world would come to a screeching halt at sundown. I'm a bit of a night owl myself -- preferring to work late into the night and sleep until noon. My energy level peaks around midnight. The phone is off the hook when I retire. If people think I'm "peculiar," I don't give a hoot.
