Missing Fred Rogers

The first man I ever loved was Fred Rogers.

I’d pretend to make dinner in my elaborate play kitchen (my favorite toy, a scary notion I’ll save for another post) and imagine his sweater and sneakers were in my closet.  I’d have the table set for dinner and when he got home, we would eat hamburgers and talk about the day.  He would listen quietly, with great interest, and he’d tell me that I made the world a better place just by being me.

I was probably five at the most.  But even then, I sensed his kindness, his goodness.  This was someone I could trust.  He was my model of adult authority–rational, measured and patient. The kind of person I wanted to be.

My son didn’t care for Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood.  The show moved too slowly for him.  It was too quiet, too pastel next to the dayglow neon of Nick Jr.  He preferred cartoon children with exceptionally large heads that had superpowers and fought crime.  In general, the adults were either absent, evil, or clueless.  The makers of these shows talk a good game about empowerment, but they focus far too much on power over others than power over one’s self–exertion over control.

We raise our children quite differently from the way we were raised ourselves.  Studies now suggest that we’ve been too generous with our praise and support, that we build false confidence and inflated expectation. What can Fred Rogers tell our children that we haven’t said thousands of times?

From time to time, I work as a middle school librarian and I see arrogance and entitlement in the students I teach–the sense that no one should question their actions or deny their demands. And yet, after the initial flash of irritation has passed, I look into their eyes and see a child who needs to know they can make the world a better place.  They’ve learned want, but forgotten about hope.

I’ve spent the morning watching footage of Fred Rogers.  Mr. Rogers testifying to a congressional committee about the importance of nurturing children and the message he was trying to convey with his program.  Mr. Rogers accepting a lifetime achievement award and asking the audience to take ten seconds to think of the people who helped them become who they are, and to be thankful for their presence.  Fred Rogers jumping up from his seat to hug a disabled man who had appeared on his show as a child, clearly touched and happy to see him.  The sound of his voice brought it all back to me, as if I was sitting on green shag carpeting in a paneled family room in suburban Michigan.

I can’t help but think Fred Rogers would be saddened by what he’d see today–intractable political conflict, the lack of respectful discourse, the way we solve our problems with violent words and actions, our lack of stewardship of the planet and our relationships with each other.  I feel so very lost.

My son is past the days of make-believe, and Fred Rogers died many years ago.  I have to hope, however, that he lives on inside of me and every other child who believed Mr. Rogers knew how special they were, and that we could believe it, because Mr. Rogers never lied.  My birthday wish for Mr. Rogers is that I can pass the hope gave to me to my own son.  In his honor, let’s be the caring people he taught us to be, and perhaps from whatever plane he dwells in he can say it again and have it be true.

“You make the world a better place, just by being you.”

For more about Fred Rogers, check out Mary Elizabeth Williams’ Salon Article

Remembering Fred Rogers, March 20, 1928 – February 27, 2003

Words by J. B. Everett

Photograph by Greg Dunlap

5 comments on “Missing Fred Rogers

  1. […] Missing Fred Rogers (mobyjoecafe.wordpress.com) […]

  2. beverlydiehl says:

    I loved Mr. Rogers too, though I never imagined he was coming to have dinner with me. The kids I raised – some loved Mr. Rogers and his slow, gentle way of approaching subjects, while others preferred Sesame Street.

  3. I loved Mr. Rogers! So kind and gentle. (Though Lady Elaine Fairchild did frighten me when I was very small.) When I shared the show with my own children, I just cried the whole time! Thank you for honoring him.

  4. […] couple of weeks ago, after I lamented the loss of Mr. Rogers, a  friend  took me to task.  He said, “Um you know there JB, you aren’t always, um. […]

  5. […] Missing Fred Rogers (mobyjoecafe.wordpress.com) […]

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s