05 March 2003
Missing a Neighbor
by
Beth Schoeppler
I'm tempted to say that Mister Rogers is
no longer living in our neighborhood. With
his passing, we've lost a gentle, wise soul
who had a way of making even life's most
difficult experiences more understandable,
more tolerable.
Long before it was fashionable or even
acceptable, he taught that feeling sad or
angry or confused is just another part of
life. He told us that it is okay to have
the feelings we have inside. He showed us
how to respect our feelings and express
them without hurting ourselves or others.
Long before people kept "gratitude
journals," Mister Rogers taught us
to notice the wonder in our lives, to be
awed and thankful for those whose lives
touch ours. He taught us that the crayon-maker,
the delivery man, the goldfish, even the
cranky lady down the block, were gifts to
be cherished.
Every day for the last ten years I have
gone to work with a picture of Fred Rogers
looking over my shoulder. The inscription
says, "You make each day special, just
by being you." It sounds so hokey.
And, many people think he was hokey, outdated,
boring. But if you spent any time with him—in
the made up neighborhood where he donned
sweaters and sneakers and looked you in
the eye—you knew that he was as sincere
and humble and caring as any person could
be. He cherished each human being, no matter
what. He believed we are each unique, and
good, and have something to contribute.
I admit that I had a special relationship
with Mister Rogers. I never met him; but
he was my best friend for a year. I was
on my first maternity leave. I was used
to spending my days interacting with the
articulate and edgy people who populate
an arts organization. I thrived on interaction,
on making critical decisions, on being challenged
and challenging. It all came to a stop with
the arrival of this tiny babe.
I loved being a mother. Yet, I was desperately
lonely. None of my friends were home with
children. I feared becoming one of those
people who park themselves in front of the
television to make it through these less
than exciting days. Then I discovered Mister
Rogers. His soothing voice and style made
it alright for me to share a half hour of
television with my son.
As my post-partum depression was compounded
by the adrenaline withdrawal from my abandonment
of the work-world, I needed to hear that
I was still special. I needed to have someone
be present as I experienced the sadness,
awe, gratitude and joy of each day. I loved
seeing how jeans were made, and hearing
YoYo Ma play the cello. I learned about
pretending by taking the Trolley to the
land of make-believe. I learned so much,
all with my son resting in the curve of
my arm, lulled by the gentle presence of
Mister Rogers.
In a year, when I returned to full-time
work, I took a job at Twin Cities Public
Television. I found a poster of Fred Rogers
and hung it in my office. No matter how
complicated or frustrating or challenging
my day could be, I was reminded of two things:
I worked for an organization that had the
courage and commitment to continue to invite
children to Mister Rogers' Neighborhood
every day, despite the pressure to take
them to faster, louder, less thoughtful,
more thrilling places. And, I knew, that
no matter what there was at least one person
in the world— someone who never even
met me — who believed in me with his
whole being. When I finally left that job
for new adventures, I took Fred Rogers with
me. Even as I write this, he is looking
at me and telling me I'm special.
I remember when Mister Rogers brought the
entire audience to tears as he accepted
his Emmy Award® by asking us to spend
a moment in silence thinking about someone
who touched our lives and made us better
people. Let's do it again today. Let's take
that moment and think about Fred Rogers
who made our shared neighborhood a whole
lot more inhabitable. If we do, we can be
sure he hasn't left the neighborhood after
all. |
