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.' "
Great story.........:o)
Wonderful article. At first, I bit - then it became patently evident just “who” the “guest” was. - My Dad got a tv early on as he was always pretty “progressive”. My first favorite program was “Howdy Doody”. In retrospect, “Doody” might well have been a good name for T.V. instead.
I’m 62 and “Doody” has been present in my life for at least 56 years - getting regressively worse all the time. My husband was raised with no TV as his mother wouldn’t allow one in the house (the best thing really). Only, it made him rebellious about not “having” what all the other kids had. So, when we were married (44 yrs. now), TV, newspapers, crosswords and other puzzles became his mistresses. Our family suffered for it. I haven’t watched daytime TV in 37 years, and some nighttime TV is harder for me to get rid of on PBS. I’d toss the thing if it were up to me, the only saving grace for it is the weather forecast. The “news” I could do without.
Wow, that's very apt! Did you write that? If not, where did you find it?
34 is great!