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 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 concept s 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 wife now....We call her 'Computer.'