The STranger

The Stranger

A few years after I was born, my
Dad met a stranger who was new to our small Texas 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 from then on.

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 good
from evil, and Dad taught me to obey. 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 the kitchen for peace and quiet. (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 didn't permit the liberal
use of alcohol. 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 could walk into my parents' 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 wife now....We call her 'Computer'.)

Ouch! But very true.

Yeah, what Staybrite said...