The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1940-08-01
By KATHLEEN NORRIS
(Ben syndicate-wNU service.)

= VERY marriage is sepa-
r rate problem and a sepa-
- rate lifework. June brides
might as we'll get that truth
through their exquisitely waved
young heads right here and now.
If wedding vows were for six
months or one year nothing in
the new life would seem so seri-
Gus. Jean would remind her
dear old friends in a laughing
aside that latter Christmas"
she would be free for bridge and
lunches and long evenings of
gossip again! John would be
more lover-like than even in en-
gagement days because so soon
he must lose this dear little af-
fectionate companion.
But both know that marriage is a
long-term contract. Unless things
really go wrong Jean and John will
be together when Jean is wrinkled
little old lady, and Johns teeth and
hair and eyes have all been artif-
cially reinforced. Fifty years! AT
any age that seems a long, long
time, and at q and % it sounds like
the clang of a Jail door.
Right Start Important.
That's why it is SO important to
start right, with a good heroic mix
ture of unselfshness, silence, self
control, humor. That's why it pays
to sacrifice a good many things, to
put the family into second place, to
give up intimate chattering old
friends, and girlhood's habits of
reading books until the dinner is
actually announced, or nibbling can
dy so that one doesn't want dinner,
or coming in late of an afternoon,
or yawning at breakfast, or forget
ting toast until it burns, or making
mild jokes at Johns expense. These
things don't sound important, but
like every other business, marriage
has got to be built upon a sound
foundation of mutual respect and
consideration, as well as upon young
love, and like every other trife in
the beginning, these trifles have a
horrifying fashion of growing strong
and menacing if they are let grow
Jean Davis, married last Christ
mas, writes me of her special prob
lem, and spatters the beautifully
written and expressed letter with
tears.
A Five-Year-Old Problem.
"I'm "a and Rods 81" says the
letter. Hes stunning, and I'm not
pretty. He's rich, and l was his Of
flee secretary. His people all have
homes on the lake, in summer; my
father has an agency for patent
oven device. She did pretty we'll
for herself, everyone said, when I
married Rod.
"And so did, in everything that
affects him and myself. We are
ideally mated, ideally happy. Or we
would be, except for Doris. Doris is
his daughter, five years old. Her
mother died when she was born, and
two aunts and grandmother have
had her since. Rod wants her with
us now, and for his sake 1 am glad
to have her.
Give always liked children, al
ways gotten along with them. But
l never saw a child like this one.
She is pale, determined little girl,
completely spoiled. Everything
causes fight, everything causes a
scene. She will wear a blue dress;
she won't wear her white shoes; she
won't take bath, or when she's in
the tub she won't get out.
A Constant Battle.
"The little thing seems to have an
uncanny instinct for making trou-
BILE; if her father starts to talk to
me, she must go around the table
and climb into his lap. She isn't
affectionate, but she can stir him
so with wistful references to my
own Mummy that his heart melts
toward her. Every weekend she
spends with her grandmother and
aunts, and every Monday she comes
back completely demoralized, with
some good reason for not going to
school.