The Stranger I grew up with

 A few years after I was born, my father met a stranger who was new to our city. From the beginning, Dad was fascinated with this enchanting newcomer and soon invited him to live with our family, one fine day. The stranger was quickly accepted and was around from then on.

  

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: Mum 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. And it was not merely our family who were the audience to his story. At times, our old lady neighbour also used to come to hear to his stories, and more often than not he was able to completely capture her attention with his narration.  

  

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 1983 Prudential Cup.  He made me laugh, and he made me cry. The stranger never stopped talking, but Dad didn't seem to mind.  

 

Sometimes, Mum 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 long-time visitor, however, got away with four-letter words that burned my ears and made my dad squirm and my mother blush.  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.  

 

Nearly forty 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 our home 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.

 

He has a wife now.. we call her Computer. Their first child is Cell Phone.. Second child video games.

By the way, they now have a wonderful grandchild she is a genius! She is fondly called Whatsapp.. She is nearly more popular than her mom.  Her older cousin is Facebook and her new baby cousins are Snapchat, Instagram.

This Stranger and members of its family appear to have taken up permanent residence in our homes and we seem powerless to check their excesses.