The Aerie
Honestly, as a child I found him boring.
I think it was only as an adult that I learned to appreciate Fred
Rogers. And of course a big part of that was the man-behind-the-image.
As part of a culture that seeks to raise and tear down icons, neither
I nor anybody else could get a claw into Fred Rogers' image. Maybe he
visisted hookers. Maybe he smoked crack. Maybe he kicked his dog.
Somehow I rather doubt it, but it's possible. If he did, it never made
the papers. No paparazzi managed to catch a photo of Mr. Rogers with a
snarl on his face.
And so he allowed me, allowed all of us really the chance to wonder if
maybe, just maybe, he was actually as nice a person as he seemed to
be.
A couple of years ago there was a segment of [1]This American Life
featuring a fellow who met Mr. Rogers both as a boy and, for the
interview, returned as an adult. If you listen to the piece, you can
almost hear the scrape of journalistic nails seeking purchase in Mr.
Rogers flawless good nature. The worst the cynically cheerful narrator
can do is stare in puzzlement at a man who, as an adult, is good, and
kind, and quiet, and able to play in a manner that most of us would
find embarassing because we're too worried about our image. Too
worried about shame.
And so Fred Rogers leaves us, and we are left with the very difficult
possibility that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't a flawed man who
successfully hid his foibles from the public eye. Maybe he was a
flawed man, as we all are flawed, but he simply overcame his
limitations and lived a good life. Maybe, just maybe, he was a nice,
kind, gentle man who was on screen exactly the way he was offscreen.
Maybe he was someone we can look up to. Maybe he was a role model.
Nothing sticks in the American craw worse than someone who really is
better than the rest of us.
I hope he was. I don't want to hear the posthumous revelations of
twisted puppet shows and trysts with Mr. McFeely. I don't even care
about the truth now that he's gone. The truth I'll keep is that he was
a nice, gentle man who devoted most of his life to speaking kindly to
children. And if he can live that life, then so can the rest of us if
we care to try.
He reached out of the screen to a nation of children raised on sugar
and video games and day care, and he said that he cared. He told them
that they were okay and that their feelings were okay, and that even
their fears were reasonable and bearable. And while he was teaching
children basic responsibility by example every time he remembered to
feed his fish, he was teaching us, his adult audience. By example he
was showing us that we can do everything it takes to be a parent
without raising our voices or shaming our children. He was reminding
us that what our children need isn't plastic or electronic, it's
emotional and temporal. And he was teaching, by example, that it's
possible to come home from work (as his show always started) and be a
good parent, even with very little energy.
Come home. Take off your shoes. Hang up your coat. Speak quietly to
your children as you go about your chores, showing them a good,
responsible life. And listen to them. For thirty years Fred Rogers
listened to children that he couldn't even see or hear. How hard can
it be for those of us with our kids right in front of us?
And if I found him boring as a child, well, that probably said more
about me, and us, than about him. He offered a quiet place, and I
chose the noise and excitement. That's what kids do. But for the sake
of all the kids who benefitted from Mr. Rogers' quiet Neighborhood, I
hope that he has now found his quiet, gentle place.
Bye Mr. Rogers. Thanks for being a quiet, kind, and loving presence
for so many children who otherwise might never have had one.
[2]Last
Posted by Albatross at February 27, 2003 12:00 AM