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 by 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 the stranger felt like we needed exposure and enlightened us to
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 than 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 a corner, waiting for someone to listen to him talk and look
at his pictures.
His name?
We always just called him T.V
-Anon.