This is very interesting and not the ending I had expected!!!!
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 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 'TV.'
(Note: This should be required reading for every household in
America !)
He has a wife now....We call her 'Computer.'[b]
Subject: The Stranger 
Mon Feb 23, 2009 11:00 pm
