Dear Ann Landers,
his article by Paul Harvey has meant so much to me through the years. Will you please print it in your column? I feel it is something that should be shared.

Dear Fan,
With pleasure. I regret that the original won't fit into my space, so here is an abbreviated version. What Are Fathers Made Of? A Father is a thing that is forced to endure childbirth without an anesthetic. A Father is a thing that growls when it feels good and laughs loud when it is scared half to death. A Father is sometimes accused of giving too much time to his busi-ness when the little ones are growing up. A Father never feels entirely worthy of the worship in his child's eyes. He is never quite the hero his daughter thinks he is and never quite the man his son believes him to be. This worries him sometimes, so he works too hard to try and smooth out the rough places in the road for his son who will follow him. A Father is a thing that gets very angry when school grades aren't as good as he thinks they should be. He scolds his son although he knows it's the teacher's fault. ANN LANDERS Fathers grow old faster than other people. While mothers can cry where it shows, Fathers have to stand there and die inside. Fathers have very stout hearts, so they have to be broken sometimes or no one would know what is inside. Fathers give daughters away to other men who aren't nearly good enough so they can have grandchildren that are smarter than anybody's. Fathers fight dragons almost daily. They hurry away from the breakfast table, off to the arena which is sometimes called an office or a workshop... where they tackle the dragon with three heads-weariness, work and monotony. Fathers make bets with insurance companies about who will live the longest. Though they know the odds, they keep right on betting. Even as the odds get higher and higher, they keep right on betting more and more. And one day they lose. But Fathers enjoy an earthly immortality and the bet is paid off to the part of him he leaves behind. I don't know where Fathers go when they die. But I have an idea that after a good rest, wherever it is, he won't be happy unless there is work to do. He won't just sit on a cloud and wait for the girl he's loved and the children she bore. He'll be busy there, too ... repairing the stairs ... oiling the gates .. . improving the streets, smoothing the way. The following was translated from a Dutch magazine. This nostalgic little piece appeared in the Danbury, Conn., News-Times. Father 4 years: My daddy can do anything. years: My dad knows a lot, a whole lot. years: My father doesn't know quite everything. 12 years: Oh, well, naturally Father doesn't know that, either. 14 years: Father? Hopelessly old-fashioned. 21 years: Oh, that man is out-of-date. What did you expect? 25 years: He knows a little bit about it, but not much. 30 years: Maybe we ought to find out what Dad thinks. Tie Best iif Ann Lanbers / 4 11 35 years: A little patience. Let's get Dad's assessment before we do anything. 50 years: I wonder what Dad would have thought about that. He was pretty smart. 60 years: My dad knew absolutely everything! 65 years: I'd give anything if Dad were here so I could talk this over with him. I really miss that man. Your Name Edgar Guest You got it from your father, 'twas the best he had to give. And right gladly he bestowed it. It's yours, the while you live. You may lose the watch he gave you and another you may claim. But remember, when you're tempted, to be careful of his name. It was fair the day you got it, and a worthy name to bear. When he took it from his father, there was no dishonor there. Through the years he proudly wore it, to his father he was true. And that name was clean and spodess when he passed it on to you. Oh, there's much that he has given that he values not at all. He has watched you break your playthings in the days when you were small. You have lost the knife he gave you and you've scattered many a game, But you'll never hurt your father if you're careful with his name. It is yours to wear forever, yours to wear the while you live, Yours, perhaps, some distant morning, another boy to give. And you'll smile as did your father-with a smile that all can share. If a clean name and a good name you are giving him to wear.