instruction:
Write a question from the passage such that it identifies a character (a person or a thing) in the passage.
question:
"Maybe we're being too harsh with the letter," said Janine.
"Hon, as his parents we have a responsibility to his well being," said Bob.
"I know but I just think he doesn't need this added pressure."
"Jan, I'll be damned if I'm gonna support and house a drug addict."
"I just think maybe he's going through tough times or something. He told me the other day he wanted to see a therapist."
"Hmm."
"Maybe there's something going on we don't understand. I mean didn't he seem a little paranoid to you today at lunch?"
"Paranoia is a side-effect of the marijuana."
"Well I still think we are being a little harsh, I mean, we can't just throw our son out on the street."
"Babe, its our job to be harsh when it comes to this kind of stuff. It's for his own good. Either he chooses to keep living rent free in the condo without the pot or he chooses to ruin his life."
"I know but don't you think we should let this little phase run its course? I mean, we're not entirely innocent ourselves. Eventually he's gonna want to stop smoking pot,"
"I don't know if he is, Jan. He's expressed to me several times that he has no interest in quitting."
"He's said that to me too."
"Well I think that's a pretty big red flag, don't you?"
"Yes."
"He needs to get his priorities in order and realize that drugs aren't gonna do him any good. If we have to force him to do that then that's what has to be done. I mean, tell me you haven't had any difficulty falling asleep at night with the notion that our sons are drug addicts."
"Well at least Ben has a job and is paying his own rent."
"I know but those people he hangs out with, Mack and Allison, those dopers that spend their time smoking weed, they...they're our age, and did you see their house, the stacks of books and newspapers and the marijuana pipes laying on the coffee table? It sickens me that there are people out there like that."
answer:
Who thinks the letter is too harsh?

question:
Luckily I was not the target or victim of this road rage, but I was a first hand witness.
Back in the mid 1990s when I worked in Southern California, I was returning from lunch one day with a coworker when we noticed two pickup trucks driving erratically. This was on Valley View Blvd in Cerritos which is a large roadway divided (by a large, planted median strip) with 3 lanes on either side.
One truck seemed to be chasing the other when suddenly the lead truck made a quick U-turn and was followed by the second truck. But the second truck came to stop just after making the turn. This was when the driver of that truck got out, walked to the front of his vehicle, raised his arm holding a semi-automatic handgun, paused, and then fired a single shot.
At this point, I was parallel with the shooter's truck and only about 5060 feet from where he was standing. I remember my coworker exclaiming, "Oh sh*t! Did he just shoot at the something?!"
I floored my accelerator and sped off to my workplace which was about a 1/2 mile down Valley View Blvd. I parked and my coworker and I got into the building as quickly as we could.
While he started telling our other coworkers about what we had just witnessed, I ran to my desk, called 911, and reported the shooting. The dispatcher kept me on the line after my initial report and then transferred me to a detective in order to take down my information.
As it turns out, my information and the fact that I called 911 immediately resulted in the arrest of the shooter.
I was later asked to testify in court which resulted in the shooters conviction.
I lived in Southern California for 10 years and now I drive a commercial truck several days a week so I have PLENTY of other "road rage stories", but this is still the craziest one.
answer:
Who called 911?

question:
"That's Glenn Miller," my father said. "But it can't be."
He had the back of the hospital bed cranked upright, the lower lid of his left eye creeping up in a warning signal I'd learned to recognize as a child. My older sister Ann had settled deep in the recliner, and she glared at me too, blaming me for winding him up. The jam box sat on the rolling tray table and my father was working the remote as he talked, backing up my newly burned CD and letting it spin forward to play a few seconds of low fidelity trombone solo.
"You know the tune, of course," he said.
"'King Porter Stomp.'" Those childhood years of listening to him play Glenn Miller on the console phonograph were finally paying off.
"He muffed the notes the same way on the Victor version."
"So why can't it be Miller?" I asked.
"He wouldn't have played with a rabble like that." The backup musicians teetered on the edge of chaos, playing with an abandon somewhere between Dixieland and bebop. "They sound drunk."
My father had a major emotional investment in Miller. He and my mother had danced to the Miller band at Glen Island Casino on Long Island Sound in the summer of 1942, when they were both sixteen. That signature sound of clarinet and four saxes was forever tied up for him with first love and the early, idealistic months of the war.
But there was a better reason why it couldn't have been Miller playing that solo. If the date on the original recording was correct, he was supposed to have died three days earlier.
The date was in India ink on a piece of surgical tape, stuck to the top of a spool of recording wire. The handwritten numerals had the hooks and day-first order of Europe: 18/12/44. I'd won it on eBay the week before as part of a lot that included a wire recorder and a stack of 78s by French pop stars like Charles Trenent and Edith Piaf.
answer:
Who had a major emotional investment in Miller?