The Stranger
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 our family. In my young mind, each member had a special niche. My brother, Bill, five
years my senior, was my example. Fran, my younger sister, gave me an opportunity to play
'big brother' and develop the art of teasing. My parents were complementary
instructors--Mom taught me to love the Word of God, and Dad taught me to obey it. But, the
stranger was our storyteller. He could weave the most fascinating tales. Adventures,
mysteries and comedies were daily conversations. He could hold our whole family
spell-bound for hours each evening. If I wanted to know about politics, history, or
science, he knew it all. He knew about the past, understood the present, and seemingly
could predict the future. The pictures he could draw were so lifelike that I would often
laugh or cry. He was like a friend to the whole family. He took Dad, Bill and me to our
first major league baseball game. He was always encouraging us to see the movies and he
even made arrangements to introduce us to several movie stars.
My brother and I were deeply impressed with John Wayne in particular. The stranger was
an incessant talker. Dad didn't seem to mind, but sometimes Mom would quietly get up,
while the rest of us were enthralled with one of his stories of faraway places, go to her
room, read her Bible and pray. I wonder now if she ever prayed that the stranger would
leave. You see, my dad ruled our household with certain moral convictions. But, this
stranger never felt obligation to honor them. Profanity, for example, was not allowed in
our house, not from us, from our friends, or adults. Our longtime visitor, however, used
occasional four letter words that burned my ears and made Dad squirm. To my knowledge the
stranger was never confronted. My dad was a teetotaler who didn't permit alcohol in his
home, not even for cooking. But this stranger felt like we needed exposure and enlightened
us to the other ways of life. He offered us beer and other alcoholic beverages often.
He made cigarettes look tasty, cigars manly and pipes distinguished. He talked freely
(probably too much too freely) about sex. His comments were sometimes blatant, sometimes
suggestive, and generally embarrassing. I know now that my early concepts of the man-woman
relationship were influenced by the stranger. As I look back, I believe it was the grace
of God that the stranger did not influence us more. Time after time he opposed the values
of my parents. Yet he was seldom rebuked and never asked to leave. More then 30 years have
passed since the stranger moved in with the young family on Morningside Drive. He is not
nearly so intriguing to my Dad as he was in those early years. But, if you were to walk
into my parents' den today, you would still see him sitting over in the corner, waiting
for someone to listen to him talk and look at his pictures. His name?
We always just called him T.V.
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