I’d like to share something I have had tacked to my fridge for about a year now, my daughter brought it home from school one day…

The Stranger

A few years after I was born, my dad met a stranger who was new to our small Texas town. From the begining, 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 complentary instructors: Mom taught me good from evil, and dad taught me to obey. But hte stranger… he was our story teller. 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 didnt 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 quite. (I wonder now if she prayed for the stranger to leave)

Dad ruled our household with certain moral convictions, but the stranger never felt obligated to honour 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 didnt permit the libral use of alcohol. But hte 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 blatent, 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: He has a wife now……we call her ‘computer’)

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Geepers I’d love to know who wrote that!!!