The Stranger

[talentedbutslow]

The Stranger

A few years after I was born, my Dad met a stranger who
was new to our small 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."

He has a younger sister now. We call her "Computer."

[Ber999T]

How very true