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 someone I emulated. Fran, my younger sister, gave me opportunity to play “big brother” and develop art of teasing. My parents were complementary instructors – mum taught me to love the word God, and dad taught m e to obey it.
But the stranger was our story teller – he could weave the most fascinating tales. Adventures, mysteries and comedies were our daily conservations. He could hold our whole family spell-bound for hours each evening. If I wanted to know about the 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 life – like that I would often laugh or cry as I watched. He was like a friend to the whole family.
The stranger took dad, Bill and me to our first major league baseball game. He was always encouraging us to see the movies even made arrangements to introduce us to several stars. My brother and I were deeply impressed by John Wayne in particular.
Dad didn’t seem to mind that the stranger was an incessant talker. But while the rest of us were enthralled with one stories of faraway places, sometimes mum would quietly get up to go her room, read her Bible and pray. I wonder now if she ever prayed that the stranger would leave.
You see, dad ruled our household with certain moral convictions, but this stranger never felt any obligation to honor them. Profanity, for example, was not allowed in our house – not from us, our friends or adults. Our long-time visitor, however, used occasional four-letter words that burned my ears and made dad squirm. To my knowledge, he was never confronted.
My dad was teetotaler who didn’t permit alcohol at home – not even for cooking. But the stranger felt like we needed exposure and enlightened us about other ways of life. Often, he offered us beer and other alcoholic beverages. He made cigarettes look tasty, cigars manly, and pipes distinguished. He talked freely (probably too much and 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 by 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, Tennessee. He is not nearly so intriguing to my dad a he was in those early years, but if I were to walk into my parents’ den today, I’d still see him sitting in a corner, waiting for someone to listen to him talk and watch his draw his pictures.
His name? We always just called him.....................
I hope you can think who he is….
This thought provoking tale came through the e-mail.
This story, I take from “THE STAR” newspaper.
This story was sent in by John Forsythe to the starmag@thestar.com.my
