A lot of Truth here. Bill
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, so many times 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?.... scroll down.
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".
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, so many times 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?.... scroll down.
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".
Comment