A few months before I was born, my Dad met a stranger who was new to our
small Tennessee town. He brought this stranger home. 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,
well he was our storyteller. He would keep us spellbound for hours on end
with adventures, mysteries and he could really make us laugh and I saw him
make mom cry more then once. .
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. 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, was not allowed in our home.... not from
us, our friends or anybody. Our longtime visitor, however, got away with many
four-letter words that burned my ears and dad squirm and mom 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 and drugs. His comments were usually 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 there, waiting for someone to listen to him talk and watch
him draw his pictures. Oh..I guess I forgot to tell you hi 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."
No comments:
Post a Comment