I have to comment on this story.
Apparently, some students from the Tulane University Law School had a party at a children's museum in New Orleans. One exhibit at the museum is dedicated to Mr. Rogers, and featured a pair of the famous sneakers that he tied at the beginning of every show. Someone from the law school attending the party smashed the plexiglass case and stole one of the sneakers. After an appeal from the dean of the school, the sneaker was returned; it was found tied to a pipe under a sink in the women's room.
Who would do something like that to Mr. Rogers?
This kind of thing happened once before, when Mr. Rogers was still alive. He drove an old Chevy Impala for years, and one day, it was stolen from its spot on the street near the TV station where he was filming. The story of the theft got out, and was all over the news. Two days later, the car was parked in the exact spot where it was stolen, with a note: "If we'd known it was yours, we never would have taken it."
That's more like it.
I have to admit, I was never a Mr. Rogers fan when I was a kid. I don't know why -- I just never connected with him. But then, after Isabel and I were married but before we had kids, we heard an interview with him on the radio. He was discussing a book of letters that people had written to him. (He was a great letter writer, and kept up corresponence with some people for years, even if he'd never met them.) One story he told during the interview just killed me: it was from the mother of a small girl who was being treated for cancer. The girl needed frequent scans to check on her progress, and hated being trapped in the scanning tube, where she needed to keep still. (I know now just was she was going through.) For a little kid, even just two minutes of keeping still seemed like an eternity. But her mom figured out that it took two minutes to sing the theme song to Mr. Roger's Neighborhood, and so mom would get on the microphone that the technician uses to give instructions to the patient, and she and her daughter would sing the song together. When it was done, the little girl's scan was done.
And then, of course, I had my own kids, and I became a bigger fan. Peter was a Mr. Rogers fan. He liked that Mr. Rogers talked to him.
And then I'd watch more, and I'd see him do stuff like this. He's just so cool.
And those sweaters he wore? His own mother knitted every one of them.
How could you not love this guy?
I'm kind of sorry I waited so long to enjoy him. He's really easy to make fun of, but we need more people like him.
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7 comments:
Stop the Mr Rogers pandering. Pleeeeeze.
As your brother - I feel compelled to set the story straight on this one.
I was the first of 3 siblings born into the family, followed a year later by our sister. The years were 1962 and 1963 respectively. Life was simple. We had no cable tv, only black and white for that matter. 5 stations, if you included the pbs station and channel 27(out of worcester, which looked mostly like a mild snow storm).
We were industrious children( Joanie and me). We spent most of our days helping our mother clean the house and roll meat balls for dinner. As a reward for our hard work and contributions to the family dinner, we got to watch Mr. Rogers and learned the values of caring , sharing and generally how to co-exist in society. Remember- this was the early 60's, and we were generally not welcome by society as a whole considering our parents mixed marriage (Dad being of Celtic mix, and Mom's Italian hertiage). Through the grace of Mr Rogers, the neighborhood kids learned to accept us and become our friends over time. All was well in the neighborhood, and then, you came along......
The year was 1969. The space race was on, the economy was booming, and we got our first color t.v. And then it began. The night we'd been hearing about for months. A new show for kids. Educational. and fun. That's right - Sesame Street. Seems that you, Mom and Dad got totally brainwashed by all of that Cambridge liberal b&%% sh@!. Joanie and I couldn't get near Mr Rogers. All we heard was Oscar the Grouch, Coookie Monster and Big Bird. Over and over and over. Then to top it off, you (the butterball) were brilliant enough to parrot back the intellectual challenge of counting to ten in Spanish. You have no idea how close you came to being launched head first into that tv. You're lucky that Joanie and I didn't have the strength to lift you up in the first place.
So enough of this sappy drivel about how you never "connected" with him. You made the choice to become a card carrying memebr of the Sesame Street fan club. You communist whacko.
Have a nice day.
I need to stop now before I get going on The Electric Company. (Morgan Freeman - you've come a logn way).
That's pretty funny -- my draft of the post did have a line about being more into Sesame Street and Electric Company instead of Mr. Rogers, but I didn't want to take the focus off of Mr. R.
And I'll admit it -- as a kid, I did like Cookie Monster way more than Mr. R, because Cookie was all about not sharing, and with two abusive older siblings, there was no way I was going to share my cookies with anyone. Exposing my cookies left me open to stealing.
But now, after having seen your post, I realize why you were so cruel to me:
You were the victims of rabid anti-Italo-Celtic hatred. There were so few of that kind of mongrel in the area, especially in Milton. You poor kids. Like a bully who was lashing out because of his own issues, you took it out on me...and Snuffleoffagus.
All the more reason to have someone like Mr. Rogers in the world.
Mike,
This is your Mother. As you know, I'm visiting Bob this weekend. I think your comments to your brother were cruel and abusive. I don't ever remember YOU counting in Spanish at such a young age. We still think it was absolutely brilliant. The comments you made about your Mother and Father were not necessary. That's not like you. Do you drink at work? Three cheers for Mr. Rogers. We all love you Fred, except Mike.
Love,
Your nice Italian mother.
P.S. I'm sitting here eating an eggplant sandwich. I just happened to bring a tray with me to Connecticut.
P.P.S. Thanks for helping with all those meatballs. Couldn't have done it without you.
that's some good stuff!!
xxoo Christine :)
P.S. wish i had some eggplant right now!!
non- i think my dad might just drink at work. what a sick, sick man.
love,
your LOVING daughter/niece/favorite grandchild...you can pick which one applys to you.
ps. when i help noni cook it cames out better than your meatballs ever did.
OK, now we're just piling on. THis is so NOT what Mr. Rogers would ahve wanted.....
clearly i just didnt even know it was about mr. rogers in the first place, i just like to bash at my father any chance i get.
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