There's a Stranger in my Life

I heard this piece read from stage at the major last month by Terri Brady and I fell in love with it! Since, I've been like a hound on a fox searching for it so I might share it with others. Low and behold my good friend "She Bear" sends it to me in an e-mail from Rex Barkers inspirations. I don't know who gets credit authoring it but here it is for your enjoyment!

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 longtime 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 parent's 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.":

Isn't this so true? What a powerful statement! My father used to have a title for the enigma. He called it the "boob tube." It mesmerizes our children and keeps us from being productive. How much further along would our nation be if we stopped entertaining ourselves mindlessly and picked up a good book to learn from? How many relationships are damaged because people are glued to the "boob tube" and ignoring their family? How has this media infected our country, influenced our morals and political decisions? How much control does TV have in your life? I'm challenging America to swap 15 minutes a day of TV time for a great book!

God Bless
Capt. Bill