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Show Kathleen Norris Says: Sometimes We Have to Hurt Mama Bell Syndicate WNU Features. 1 George wants me to marry him at once, bring my children with me. But he insists we leave my mother behind. ONE FOR LL Those who are lucky enough to be born into a large family have the advantage oj companionship compan-ionship missed by those who must grow up alone. But they also have the disadvantage, if you choose to call it that, of having to learn very early to compromise. They must often sacrifice what they want for something that is better for all. Giving up a chance to see the last thrilling chapter of "Dead-eye "Dead-eye Dan" to take care of little sister is a major childhood tragedy. But it makes so much easier the process of growing into a generous, unselfish adult. By KATHLEEN NORRIS J T T IS the penalty of loving a I large family group that " - sometimes you have to ii hurt somebody's feelings. Sometimes you have to tell ( Bill's wife that because Sarah j and her boys are coming i- down for the weekend there won't be a spare bed. Sometimes Some-times you have to indicate to dear little Patricia that because be-cause Jean is going to have 1 only one bridesmaid she nat- . orally wants her sister to be that one and so cuts out Cousin Patricia. Pa-tricia. Sometimes you tactfully have to inform darling sensitive Mother that you took the rug back -i - ' to Brown's and changed it for a Jritchen table. Morfthan that, sometimes as chil- ' dren grow older, follow their own destinies, find their own work and mates and homes, they have to take stands that to the old people seem unfeeling and inconsiderate. Many a dutiful daughter puts off her mar-, mar-, riage because she is needed at ; home; puts it off so long that her young man drifts away to somebody some-body else. Many a son goes on supporting parents, who could per fectly well support themselves, until un-til the years when he could have carved out a happy ltfe for himself him-self have gone by. And believe me, a withered little comnlacent mother hanging on a big ron's arm is a very poor substitute for a fine, loving lov-ing young wife ar d a houseful of children. Here is the problem of a good daughter who finds herself faced for the second time with the difficulty diffi-culty of break'ng away from home. Tie-J to Mother. "I am 3'," writes Ann Rogers, "and have Iwo children, Betsey who is nine end Philip, six. My husband hus-band seamed when I married him to be r trustworthy person, but he proved to be anything but that. As my mother is not very strong and my lather retired many years ago, it tvas a condition of my marrying it all that I live at home, and with the exception of my honeymoon and a few summer weeks each year, I have had my own old room all my life. Mother had nice rooms fixed for Phil and me, and I was glad to give up office work and devote myself my-self to housekeeping and to my children chil-dren as they came along. Phil prospered pros-pered and finally at a bargain bought a nice house, but at that time my father became ill and died, and during his long illness and after his death I could not leave my mother. moth-er. We had been married about ten years when Phil left me absolutely without warning, got a divorce and married his office assistant. This blow shattered me for awhile, I had very little money and my baby was not yet four. But last year I got my job back, and as my mother moth-er had an opportunity to sell her old place advantageously, we moved into a small cottage she owns and get along very comfortably. "Last year Phil was killed in a motor accident, and I went back to office work; in the course of that work I met a physician of means, in every way a wonderful man. We fell deeply in love and a few weeks ago he asked me to marry him. He is 44, and as far as war service is 'u concerned has been placed on the 'indispensable' list, as he is head of a large public hospital and lectures to undergraduate students at the university. Which Road to Take? "George wants me to marry him it once, bring my children with me he really loves and understands them, and they love him, and take J over the management of his own home out in the country. But he insists we leave my mother behind. He ndll see that she always has plenty, and of course I can come and go as I please, but he will not consent to her coming to us. He says that any one of a score of fine nurses will gladly rent the extra rooms in my mother's house, which is across the street from the big hospital. But when I only suggested suggest-ed this plan, my mother was so agitated and angered that she told me not to allow him to enter the house again. I am distracted between be-tween the fear of losing the man I love and respect, and destroying my mother's last happiness in life, for she is not a club or card-playing or even church-going woman, her one child has been her world, and if I take away her grandchildren and myself she will very probably never forgive me, or wish to see us again. "Please tell me where my duty lies and what my course ought to be." Here, Ann, is a perfect example of the predatory parent. Your mother moth-er never gave you a brother or sister, sis-ter, a background of old friends and a circle of young ones. She kept you selfishly her own, trying to shut away everything that she could not control and share in your life. When young love came to you, she must make the conditions under which you might accept it; you say it was a condition of your marrying at all that you live at home, and I can imagine exactly who made that stipulation. stip-ulation. Now, old and cranky, and cut away from all the normal interests inter-ests of age; books, friends, clubs, games, charities, war activities, having seen your first marriage wrecked because of her selfishness, she would calmly deny you another and a more promising union and condemn you to the position of a servant to her and to the children. Move to Home of Own. What you ought to do and what I know your good sense will prompt you to do, is to marry your George quietly, paying no attention to the scolding and whining at home, move your children into a younger and more normal atmosphere in the new home, resent nothing, remember nothing disagreeable, constantly come to see your mother, bring the children in, and so wear down her resistance and win her to the new order of things in spite of herself. And when the time comes, Ann, and it comes fast, prepare yourself to treat your own children with generosity gen-erosity and understanding. Get it through your head once and for all that young families don't like to have old men and old women quartered quar-tered upon them. There are exceptions excep-tions of course; there are mothers whose services to sons' or daughters' daugh-ters' families are simply indispensable; indispensa-ble; there are old fathers and mothers moth-ers who are the most beloved and essential members of the group. |