Mr. Rogers Gives Me Chills

A few minutes ago at the PBS Kids presentation at SXSW, they played a clip from Mr. Rogers, probably recorded a short time before he passed.  In it he thanked all of us who grew up watching him for being his friends and knowing that he liked us just the way we were

And I got chills.  Not bad, scary chills.  Instead it was a warm, touching chill -- his show was for so many kids, a special moment in the day when make-believe and imagination were not only okay, they were exactly what you needed.  And even now, it is something special.

You could see the reaction of the other attendees, sitting here in a crowded Hilton restaurant on a rainy Austin day ... all around me, wistful smiles appeared on faces. Even a few tears. Seeing that clip of him reminding us all that he did like us exactly as we were (and are) was clearly a message that still resonated with all of us.

I remembered a moment when I was a kid and I realized that for some kids, Mr. Rogers' expressions of love for them "just the way they were" might have been the only time they heard words like that directed that them. (OK, I was a weird child...but it was all right because Mr. Rogers liked me "just the way I am.")  I cried when i first realize that, and I almost did again today.  What a gift he gave to so many kids!

But the good news from this presentation is that Mr. Rogers' message, and his lessons about life, caring, self-esteem and of course, the power of imagination, will live on.

A new series called Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood will be airing soon on PBS stations across the country.  The animated show features the characters we knew and loved like Henrietta Pussycat, Lady Elaine Fairchilde, and of course, Daniel Striped Tiger, but they are now the parents of preschoolers of their own.

The star of the show, Daniel Tiger Jr., will teach a new generation lessons about caring, taking turns, dealing with scary things, and being a part of a family. But above all, Fred Rogers message about being loved "just the way you are" comes through loud and strong. And that's the very best part of all.

Thank you Mr. Rogers.  For the lessons we grew up with, and for leaving a legacy that will live on in this new series.

And just for the record, we loved you just the way you are, too.

Praying with all my heart... and hearing an answer

Sometimes in the midst of everything falling apart, prayers can be answered. Prayers you never expected to see answered.

Someone you thought would be a part of your life forever and ever, and then one day, was gone...

Someone you imagined suddenly finding on your doorstep late one night, or seeing in your favourite cafe on a sunny afternoon...

Someone whose car you thought you saw at the market or the next lane over a few cars ahead on the freeway...

Someone whose name called out by a stranger in the mall made you stop and look, on the off chance it was him (or her)...

Someone you finally left in the past, after long nights of tears and countless futile bargains with G-d, or whatever you imagine the powers in the universe to be...

Sometimes, somehow, one day, you might be standing in the post office line or paying for groceries or answering e-mails in your office -- something ordinary and every day, and your phone rings. And instead of the almost-anybody-else-in-the-universe you thought it could possibly be, it's him. It's that voice you recognize from a single hello.

And you stand there, stunned, all the words you once imagined saying if you ever had the chance have suddenly vanished from your brain. And you feel like you're 10 years old and a grown-up expects you to do something that you just don't quite get. Like talk. So you squeeze out a squeeky hello, and then you wait...not having any idea what the next words should be.

You babble. And odds are they babble. They ask what's new. And even if you have a new job, new house and dozens of other new things in your life since they left, you say "nothing." Because for that instant, you are back where you were when they left and nothing really has changed.

And after only a few minutes, you hang up. Even if you used to talk for hours on end and have saved up years worth of things to say, you say good-bye. You promise to talk again. Soon. And you stand there.

Dazed.

Because the call you once prayed for every minute of every day came.

And you didn't know what to say.

Over the next day or two it sinks in...and then you start to wonder. What about the life I have now? Do I want to go back to who and what I was then? Haven't I changed and grown and learned since then. And you don't call back. And he does not call back.

And you look at the people you have in your life now, and you imagine leaving them behind. And you can't. Because they are the ones you choose to be with now. The ones who might have caught you as you fell, or met you when you arose, like the pheonix from that past sorrow...and they saw you soar for the first time as the new being you are now.

That call came on Tuesday, as I stood by my car, juggling mail to take into the post office. I almost didn't answer. It was not a good time. That it could have been him on the other end never occured to me. But in the end, I answered. I'm dealing with some legal issues left over from my now several years old divorce and thought it might be my attorney. The area code was right for it to be her. But it was not her. It was him.

And one hello was all I needed to hear to know that.

So the question is: now what? I am not who I was when we parted a year ago. I have changed. I have grown. I am stronger, sadder, happier, weaker, smarter, more confused, more contemplative, and more impulsive than I was then. I look different to myself when I look in the mirror. The sorrow has aged me, I think. But my eyes are more peaceful than I remember them looking when we were together.

For now, we are 1700 miles apart. And I cannot see that changing any time soon.


Tonight is a night for the beach. For quiet conversations about here and now and maybe even tomorrow. I think I've looked backwards long enough.