The Stranger
When I was about six years old, 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 into the family.
As I grew up, I never questioned his place in our family. In my young mind, he had a special place in our home. 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 right answers, about the past, current events and even seemed able to predict the future! He took our 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. 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 against any liberal use of alcohol or tobacco, but the stranger encouraged us to try it. 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. Something’s I didn't understand at first, but after awhile I caught on.
I now know that my early concepts about relationships were influenced strongly by the stranger. My views on life for the must part were peppered with our strangers questionable morals. Time after time, he opposed the values of my parents, yet he was seldom rebuked... I NEVER understood why they just didn't ask him to leave.
More than thirty years have passed since the stranger moved in. He has blended right in and is not nearly as fascinating as he was at first. Still, you can walk into my parents' home today and you would still find him sitting over in his corner, waiting for someone to listen to him talk and illustrate his stories. His name?.... We call him 'Mr.TV.'
As I grew up, I never questioned his place in our family. In my young mind, he had a special place in our home. 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 right answers, about the past, current events and even seemed able to predict the future! He took our 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. 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 against any liberal use of alcohol or tobacco, but the stranger encouraged us to try it. 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. Something’s I didn't understand at first, but after awhile I caught on.
I now know that my early concepts about relationships were influenced strongly by the stranger. My views on life for the must part were peppered with our strangers questionable morals. Time after time, he opposed the values of my parents, yet he was seldom rebuked... I NEVER understood why they just didn't ask him to leave.
More than thirty years have passed since the stranger moved in. He has blended right in and is not nearly as fascinating as he was at first. Still, you can walk into my parents' home today and you would still find him sitting over in his corner, waiting for someone to listen to him talk and illustrate his stories. His name?.... We call him 'Mr.TV.'
Writer: Anonymous
Image courtesy of First United Methodist Church
Comments
Post a Comment