DEAR ABBY: I recently called my daughter-in-law and asked her to give me my ex-husband's new address. She refused to give it to me, so the next day I called my son "Jeff" at work and asked him for the address. He also refused, and said he doesn't give his dad information about me and he wouldn't give me information about his father. I don't care if Jeff gives such information to anyone -- I am listed in the phone book.

Jeff said he would call his dad and ask if it was OK to give me the address. (His father and I are estranged and avoid all possible contact.) I merely want his address for my records, and I did not request a telephone number.

I know in which city he lives and have been thinking of moving to that city as well, but I certainly would not want to live in the same neighborhood. I may need the address in later years to claim Social Security benefits or something.

I am dismayed at my son's attitude. I can't understand why he is being so pigheaded about an address. Am I wrong for expecting him to give me this information? -- A DISMAYED AND PERPLEXED MOM

DEAR DISMAYED AND PERPLEXED: Yes, you are wrong to expect your son to give you information about his father, especially since you are estranged from your former husband and you both avoid contact. Don't try to wheedle the information from Jeff or his wife. Putting your son and daughter-in-law in the middle will only alienate them from you. Jeff will tell his father you would like his address. But the decision whether or not to give it out rests with your ex.

DEAR ABBY: I just spoke with my younger sister whom I haven't seen in six years. I had planned on visiting her in September. She told me she had heard through the family grapevine that I was planning to bring "John," my live-in boyfriend. Abby, John is not just a boyfriend -- we are getting married before the end of the year.

I am not a child. I have four grown children and a grandson, and I have been divorced for many years.

Well, to make a long story short, my sister informed me that when I visit her I will not be allowed to sleep with John. (It's not like she and her husband are saints. He did drugs and had plenty of women before they were married, and my sister was no angel either.)

I am so burned up over her holier-than-thou attitude that I'm considering canceling my trip. What are your thoughts on this, Abby? It's going to be a family reunion and I would hate to miss it. -- ON THE FENCE

DEAR ON: Your sister and brother-in-law have the right to make the rules in their home. Stop fuming, get off the fence, take John and stay at a motel.

P.S. I hope you and John enjoy the family reunion!

CONFIDENTIAL TO "YOUR NEW READER IN PORTLAND, ORE.": True, charity begins at home, but it shouldn't end there. The way to have nothing to give is to give nothing.

Good advice for everyone -- teens to seniors -- is in "The Anger in All of Us and How to Deal With It." To order, send a business-sized, self-addressed envelope, plus check or money order for $3.95 ($4.50 in Canada) to: Dear Abby, Anger Booklet, P.O. Box 447, Mount Morris, Ill. 61054-0447. (Postage is included.)

DEAR ABBY: Several months ago I wrote you using the name of a dear friend and longtime prankster, Michael Deibele of Portland, Ore. In it, "he" was writing about his hobby, baton twirling, and the fact he was receiving flak about it.

I, not Michael Deibele, wrote that letter. I thought that people who know Mike would read it, think it was funny (obviously a joke) and no one would be the wiser. I intended to use this harmless prank as a way of getting back at him for years of practical jokes.

Instead, my friend Mike has received homophobic crank calls and a lot of unwanted attention from the media. I feel terrible about this!

Abby, I need to clear up this situation, take blame where blame is due and apologize. I hope you will print my letter. -- JULIE WILBORN, PORTLAND, ORE.

DEAR JULIE: You have shown maturity by writing to set the record straight. Your letter illustrates the danger of practical jokes, the consequences of which can sometimes mushroom.

Since I published your original letter, I've been reminded that there exists an outdated public perception that certain activities are "masculine" or "feminine," and those who cross over and enjoy them are suspect. For example: Needlepoint has long been regarded as a woman's hobby. But Rosie Grier does it, and can hardly be classified as effeminate -- nor should male surgeons who sometimes do needlepoint to keep their fingers strong and nimble.

Professional dancing has been similarly classified. But no one would label Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly, Mikhail Baryshnikov or Patrick Swayze "gay." The same goes for male hairdressers -- and anyone who doubts it should rent a video of the cult favorite, "Shampoo."

It is estimated that up to 10 percent of the population is homosexual. Homosexuals are represented in every profession, sport and hobby, whether they choose to disclose it or not.

But I digress: Until this unfortunate incident, Michael Deibele told me, he was unaware of the extent to which homophobia has blossomed in the USA of the '90s. It should be unnecessary for Mike to explain that baton twirling is not and never has been a hobby of his, that it was a figment of your fertile imagination, and that he is the victim of a practical joke. Not only have there been homophobic phone calls, but also calls from male friends who assure him, "We're with you all the way" with a knowing chuckle, and numerous calls from the national media asking to interview him about "his hobby."

I apologize to Mr. Deibele for the part I unwittingly played in this unfortunate incident. And in the future, I am asking readers who want their letters to be published to include a phone number that I can use for verification.

Practical joking is a hobby that BOTH of you should discontinue. He who lives by the sword dies by the sword.

DEAR ABBY: My husband joins a group of male friends every now and then for a "guy's day off." They get together for a day of fishing or golfing.

I don't mind this except for one little problem. The organizer invites his daughter's boyfriend to come along with the guys, and she shows up in short-shorts and tags along for the whole day. If the spouses let the men have this day for themselves, why can't the daughter stay home and let her boyfriend have fun without her? She can be with him afterward.

Abby, several of the men and most of the spouses would like to know how to handle this problem. -- NO WOMEN ALLOWED IN INDIANA

DEAR NO WOMEN ALLOWED: If one of you will clip this column and hand it to the organizer, the problem should be solved. If not, the guys should talk to the organizer and ask him to tell his daughter that this is strictly a guy thing, so she should make other plans for the day.

To receive a collection of Abby's most memorable -- and most frequently requested -- poems and essays, send a business-sized, self-addressed envelope, plus check or money order for $3.95 ($4.50 in Canada) to: Dear Abby's "Keepers," P.O. Box 447, Mount Morris, Ill. 61054-0447. (Postage is included.)

DEAR ABBY: My wife and I have been reading your column for years and always enjoy it. I would like to share with you my "lady luck" story.

In 1930 I went to a wedding celebration in the neighborhood. During the evening, one of the boys took a pair of sugar cubes and inked dots on them so they looked like dice. He said to another fellow and me, "Let's roll the dice to see who gets to walk Mary home and get a goodnight kiss." Mary agreed with a smile. I was tickled because I was "stuck" on her.

I won the dice game and walked Mary home. Being somewhat nervous I kept talking until she finally said, "Well, are you going to collect your kiss?" I did, and it was wonderful. I asked her to a dance the following weekend and that started our courtship. Remember, Abby, these were Depression years, so our courtship was very modest.

On April 8, 1934, we were married. This year, we celebrated our 62nd anniversary. When our doctor heard how long we've been married, he exclaimed, "That's remarkable. Some people don't live that long!"

Today we have three wonderful children, eight grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. They all adore "Grammy" because they have fond memories of her pampering them with treats such as turtle-shaped pancakes, chocolate-covered cookies, yummy fruit salad, etc.

We're both in our 80s now, but I will never forget the night "lady luck" really smiled on me! -- HANK SHOBAR, LARKSPUR, CALIF.

DEAR HANK: Thanks for the memories that will delight many readers who are old enough to appreciate them.

DEAR ABBY: Recently you told your readers that people don't write letters because they are busier now and communicate in ways that don't take that much time. I take issue with the statement about how busy people are today compared with a few years ago, and I submit this poem from The Bald Eagle, a newsletter of the Lecompton Historical Society of Lecompton, Kan. -- PAT CASTRO, RAMONA, CALIF.

MAMA'S MAMA

Mama's mama, on a winter's day,

Milked the cows and fed them hay,

Slopped the hogs, saddled the mule,

And got the children off to school.

Did a washing, mopped the floors,

Washed the windows and did some chores,

Cooked a dish of home-dried fruit,

Pressed her husband's Sunday suit.

Swept the parlor, made the bed,

Baked a dozen loaves of bread.

Split some wood and lugged it in,

Enough to fill the kitchen bin,

Cleaned the lamps and put in oil,

Stewed some apples she thought might spoil,

Churned the butter, baked a cake,

Then exclaimed, "For goodness sake!

The calves have got out of the pen!"

Went out and chased them in again.

Gathered the eggs and locked the stable,

Returned to the house and set the table.

Cooked a supper that was delicious,

And afterward washed all the dishes,

Fed the cat, sprinkled the clothes,

Mended a basket full of hose.

Then opened the organ and began to play,

"When You Come to the End of a Perfect Day."

DEAR ABBY: Recently you told your readers that people don't write letters because they are busier now and communicate in ways that don't take that much time. I take issue with the statement about how busy people are today compared with a few years ago, and I submit this poem from The Bald Eagle, a newsletter of the Lecompton Historical Society of Lecompton, Kan. -- PAT CASTRO, RAMONA, CALIF.

MAMA'S MAMA

Mama's mama, on a winter's day,

Milked the cows and fed them hay,

Slopped the hogs, saddled the mule,

And got the children off to school.

Did a washing, mopped the floors,

Washed the windows and did some chores,

Cooked a dish of home-dried fruit,

Pressed her husband's Sunday suit.

Swept the parlor, made the bed,

Baked a dozen loaves of bread.

Split some wood and lugged it in,

Enough to fill the kitchen bin,

Cleaned the lamps and put in oil,

Stewed some apples she thought might spoil,

Churned the butter, baked a cake,

Then exclaimed, "For goodness sake!

The calves have got out of the pen!"

Went out and chased them in again.

Gathered the eggs and locked the stable,

Returned to the house and set the table.

Cooked a supper that was delicious,

And afterward washed all the dishes,

Fed the cat, sprinkled the clothes,

Mended a basket full of hose.

Then opened the organ and began to play,

"When You Come to the End of a Perfect Day."