The Stranger.....
A few months before I was born, my Dad met a stranger who was new to
our
small Tennessee town. From the beginning, Dad was fascinated with
this
enchanting newcomer and soon invited him to live with our family.
The stranger was quickly accepted and was around to welcome me into
the
world a
few months later.
As I grew up, I never questioned his place in my family. In my young
mind,
he had a special niche. My parents were complementary instructors:
Mom taught
me the word of God, and Dad taught me to obey it. But the stranger,
he was
our storyteller. He would keep us spellbound for hours on end with
adventures,
mysteries and comedies.
If I wanted to know anything about politics, history or science, he
always
knew the answers about the past, understood the present and even
seemed able
to predict the future! He took my family to the first major league
ball
game. He made me laugh, and he made me cry. The stranger never
stopped talking,
but Dad didn't seem to mind.
Sometimes, Mom would get up quietly while the rest of us were
shushing each
other to listen to what he had to say, and she would go to her room
and read
her books (I wonder now if she ever prayed for the stranger to
leave.)
Dad ruled our household with certain moral convictions, but the
stranger
never felt obligated to honor them. Profanity, for example, was not
allowed in
our home... not from us, our friends or any visitors. Our longtime
visitor,
however, got away with four-letter words that burned my ears and made
my dad
squirm and my mother blush.
My Dad was a teetotaler who didn't permit alcohol in the home, not
even for
cooking. But the stranger encouraged us to try it on a regular basis.
He
made cigarettes look cool, cigars manly and pipes distinguished.
He talked freely (much too freely!) about sex. His comments were
sometimes
blatant, sometimes suggestive, and generally embarrassing.
I now know that my early concepts about relationships were influenced
strongly by the stranger. Time after time, he opposed the values of
my parents, yet
he was seldom rebuked... and NEVER asked to leave.
More than fifty years have passed since the stranger moved in with
our
family. He has blended right in and is not nearly as fascinating as
he was at
first. Still, if you were to walk into my parent's den today, you
would still
find him sitting over in his corner, waiting for someone to listen to
him talk
and watch him draw his pictures. His name?....
We just call him, "TV."
**Note: This should be required reading for every household in
America!**
He has a younger sister now. We call her "Computer."
