Influential Stranger
A few months before 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 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 long-time 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 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!
Now he has taken a Wife we call Computer!!!
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