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. Though his outward appearance was not attractive, 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 place. My brother, Yusuf, a few years my senior, was my example. Sa'diyah, my younger sister, gave me an opportunity to play 'big brother' and develop the art of teasing. My parents were complementary instructors - Mum taught me to love Allah Ta'ala and Dad taught me how to obey Him. 

But the stranger, who was our storyteller, could weave the most fascinating tales. Adventures, mysteries and comedies were daily conversations. He could hold our whole family spellbound for hours each evening and would take most of our time over the weekend. If i wanted to know about politics, history or science, he knew it. He knew about the past and seemed to understand the present.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. He took Dad, Yusuf and me to our first major league cricket game. He was always encouraging us to see the movies and he even made arrangements to introduce us to several famous people.

The stranger was a constant talker. Dad didn't seem to mind, but sometimes Mum would quietly get up - (while the rest of us were enthralled with one of his stories of a faraway place)- and go to her room read the Qur'an. She would sometimes quietly tell us that the Holy Prophet SallAllahu Alayhi Wasallam said: 'The beauty of one's faith is shunning all non-productive activites'.

I wonder now if she ever prayed that the stranger would leave. Yes you see, my dad ruled our household with certain moral convictions. But the stranger never felt an obligation to honour them. Swearing, for example, was not allowed in our house, neither from our friends, adults or us. Our long time 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 teetotaller who didn't permit alcohol in the house. 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 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 Allah's mercy that the stranger did not influence us more. Yes he was seldom rebuked and never asked to leave. More than thirty years have passed since the stranger moved in with the family. But if I were to walk into my parents' bedroom today, you would still see him sitting over in a corner, waiting for someone to listen to listen to him, talk and watch him draw his pictures and enchant his audience with his magic.

His name? You may ask... We call him TV.

Taken from The World of Teens 2 By Shaykh Muhammad Yahya Ibn Faruq