Dear Buckie,
The Dodgers in California? Heh-heh. Well now, son, I wouldn’t get all hot under the collar about that. Why would they want to do that. Now, really. Settle down.
Dear Unsigned,
When your boy is ready, he’ll bring his young lady home to meet you, I’m sure. Don’t you worry about that. In the mean-time, you should give the boy some leeway on curfew - a boy needs time if he’s going to court a lady. Good luck.
Dear Worried,
My goodness, lad. You certainly have a lot on your mind, don’t you? Listen, son: there’s no reason to worry about President Eisenhower or golf (which is a fine game, I might add). Americans didn’t invent Pot Roast, either, but that doesn’t make it any less wholesome a meal now, does it? Take my word for it - you’d be better off practicing your curve-ball than worrying about President Eisenhower.
Dear csharpmajor,
Well, son, that’s one of the great mysteries of life now, isn’t it? Now run along. I think I hear your mother calling you.
Dear Concerned Son,
Listen, boy: if you keep that up, you won’t be able to shave those palms of yours - you’ll go blind! Why don’t you go on down to the park, play some ball, and try to get your mind off of self-abuse and onto something productive, like practicing hitting? There, now. Atta boy. Go on.
Dear **Loopy]/b],
Listen, son: I’d take anything Dr. Greenbaum says with a grain of salt. That said, remember he’s your elder, and you need to show him the proper respect. Now, let me tell you something that we’ll just keep between me and you, eh? You’re right about Hoover and Tolson. Makes me proud, son. Now why don’t you go get cleaned up. Your mother said dinners going to be ready in about ten minutes.
Dear The Guy at the Other End of the Bar,
You’d better watch your mouth, son, before I clean it out with a bar of soap.
50’s Dad
Please finish your drink and come home. Dinner’s almost ready and Tommy has baseball practice.
Love,
50’s Mom