just think about it...
A few months before I was born, my Dad met a stranger who was new to our
small Tennessee 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 to welcome me into the
world a few months later.
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 the word of God, and Dad taught me to obey it. 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 her room
and read
her books. (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
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 a teetotaler who didn't permit alcohol in the home, not even
for cooking. 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 were to 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.
-------------------------------------------------
just thought some people may enjoy these last two entries!
small Tennessee 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 to welcome me into the
world a few months later.
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 the word of God, and Dad taught me to obey it. 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 her room
and read
her books. (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
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 a teetotaler who didn't permit alcohol in the home, not even
for cooking. 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 were to 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.
-------------------------------------------------
just thought some people may enjoy these last two entries!