The Stranger in My Home {Insp}

"The Stranger in My Home"

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 our friends, any visitors or us. 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 by his initials, "TV."

He has a younger sister now. We call her "Computer."
Received on Mon Jan 22 16:22:10 2007