chap
03-11-2008, 05:01 PM
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
o 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."
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
o 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."