I found this today and thought it was interesting
 A few months before I was born, my Dad met a stranger who was new to our
small 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 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.


- Author Unknown