The Stranger

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 long-time
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."

He has a younger sister now. We call her, "computer."