The Stranger and Friend

[Guest guest]

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 longtime 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. "