I just saw Morgan Neville’s powerful documentary, “Won’t You
Be My Neighbor?” and I can’t encourage you strongly enough to go see it. It’s a beautifully made film, both reverent
and humanizing in its treatment of its remarkable subject, and I came away
wanting to see it again (and maybe even to take notes the second time around). Don’t wait until it comes out on DVD or
Netflix—go see it in the theater. First
of all, by doing so you demonstrate that a movie like this can be a commercial box
office success. Secondly, it’s a
unifying experience to see it as part of a community, and don’t we all need
that right now? I have never in my life heard
or seen so many people, including myself, continuously crying at a movie. I can think of few films—maybe “Schindler’s
List?”—that have so moved an audience of which I was a part.
Fred Rogers was a lifelong Republican, did insist that his
friend and co-star Francois Clemmons stay “in the closet” while on the show, and
was far more censorious of media produced for kids than I am, but despite those
differences l feel a strong kinship to him and to his work. As an adult, and particularly as a parent and
a teacher, I have found myself moved to tears by his shows and his words. He so beautifully and humbly modeled what it looks
like to truly respect young children, and sincerely demonstrated the words grace
and mercy in his repeated affirmations of unconditional love for all of us
collectively and individually. I enjoyed
his shows as a child but did not fully appreciate him or what he was trying to
do; by middle school I thought he was ridiculous. But whenever I was sick at home as a
teenager, I would almost always watch his show (along with “Sesame Street” and
Bob Ross’s “The Joy of Painting”).
Whether I admitted it or not, Mr. Rogers was security. Mr. Rogers made me feel better.
As I watched the film, the clips of Mr. Rogers as puppeteer
were some of the most moving to me. My
Simon the snail puppet is my Daniel Tiger, as is my daughter’s stuffed Piglet,
which I used to make talk to her (OK, I still do this). I was a kid who favored my stuffed animals
above all other toys, and, while I was always a little scared of Lady Elaine
and wasn’t a huge fan of the royal family puppets, X the owl, Daniel, and
Henrietta Pussycat seemed like friends.
As a somewhat fearful, risk-averse child, I especially connected with
Henrietta. In the same way that certain
smells can immediately conjure emotional memory, hearing Henrietta’s and Daniel’s
voices and seeing them on the big screen instantly transported me back to my childhood, safe and warm in my living
room.
As my friend and I left the movie theater this evening, still wiping away tears, a
man with a sign asked us for money for food.
We acknowledged him but didn’t give him any money. I got all the way to my car, got in, and
wrestled with myself. I got out of the
car and walked back to the theater. My
intent was to ask the man what he wanted to eat, go get it, and bring it
back. When I got back to the theater, he
was gone. I walked up and down the
sidewalk a bit looking for him but didn’t see him. I walked back to the car in the rain. I wanted to cry. I felt like a fraud. Loving your neighbor is all well and good
when you’re in a movie theater—but what do you do when your neighbor is
standing in front of you asking for help?
I felt like I had failed Mr. Rogers, and the man in need, and God, and
myself. Because I am, ultimately, a drama queen at
heart, my internal monologue went something like this: “Mr. Rogers would be so disappointed in
you. Did you learn nothing from that
movie, or from him? When are you going
to really live out your beliefs? What kind of Christian are you, anyway?” As I drove away,
I saw a man a couple of blocks away that I thought might be the same man but I
wasn’t sure, because in my embarrassment at not helping him, I hadn’t really
looked at him closely (and there’s a deeper lesson in that, too). I thought about parking and running after
him, but didn’t know how to explain myself if it turned out to not be the same
man after all. Then I felt guilty all
over again for not stopping a second time.
I wish I could tell you that I stopped then and there and went after
him, found out his name, took him out for dinner, and made a difference in the world! But I didn’t.
I’m going to keep my eyes out for him, though, and for
others like him. I’m going to get
restaurant gift cards and carry them with me. I’m going to try to be kinder to everyone (not
just to the people who look and think and talk like me), to help look for solutions to
the myriad of problems that plague our country, to love my students—ALL of my
students—more and to show it, to make my relationship with them my number one
teaching priority; in short, I vow to try harder to be the person that Fred Rogers
always told me that I could be. I’m glad
he isn’t here to see what we’ve become—how anguished he would be by the
children separated from their parents at the border--but I also wish his wise and gentle voice was
here to help guide us through this mess.
God bless you, Mr. Rogers. Your
voice still speaks to us—I hope we listen.
