Brilliant … But Bouncy

Mister Rogers Saw Me.

I was three years old, living in Pittsburgh, when Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood debuted. I was just the right age and in just the right place.

I have seen enough of the show to know all the characters, both puppet and human, and I have always loved that darned owl. I watched it with my own children, too.

But my mother actually remembers me watching the show. She came into the room and saw me staring at the television as Mister Rogers discussed the possibility of being sucked down the drain.

“Are you afraid of the drain?” she asked me, thinking it was the silliest thing in the world. And I nodded, wide-eyed and terrified, waiting for Mister Rogers to assure me that I wasn’t going into that dark hole.

It was during high school – summer school actually – that Mister Rogers found me again.

After each class, I would sit on the wall outside of Central Catholic High School and wait for my ride.

On one such day, Mister Rogers happened to be driving out of WQED next door. He was just sitting there in the driver’s seat in his cardigan sweater.

Mister Rogers saw me on that wall – a scared, pained teenager – and he smiled and waved, like we were old chums. He had no idea that we actually were old chums, or that I felt utterly humiliated because I was in summer school after all the good things he’d taught me as a child.

I raised my hand in response, the world’s fastest wave, scared to death of what he might think of me.

A decade went by before I saw him again. I’d graduated from high school and college, and I wanted desperately to work in children’s television. After much ado, I got a meeting with the producer of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood to offer my services as a volunteer.

The producer walked while he talked, and I followed him around WQED-TV. Suddenly a man with glasses and a familiar smile appeared; it wasn’t until he spoke that I recognized Fred Rogers standing right in front of me.

My heart stopped for a moment as I shook Fred’s hand and whispered, “Nice to meet you.” I didn’t mention that day after summer school; I was afraid it might hinder my chances of being hired.

I wasn’t hired anyway, even as a volunteer, maybe because I froze and provided no witty banter.

Recently I’ve listened to a podcast called Finding Fred, which recounts stories from people who met Mister Rogers, and focuses on how he changed their lives. It’s a beautiful series and the only podcast that’s intrigued me since the word “podcast” became a thing.

It’s so beautiful, in fact, that I don’t want to listen to the last episode. I’m saving it.

It’s crazy to think that this man still influences my thinking, but he does – not because he waved or shook my hand, but because he taught me that we’re not all going to get sucked down the drain. He taught me that fear is okay, but so is courage. He taught me that grieving is okay, and so is exuberance. He taught me that I’m okay – that I’m okay – just the way I am.

And even though I buried that thought midway through the fifth grade, deep down inside of me, it still cries out quietly sometimes from very far away: I’m okay.

I think that’s why seeing Mister Rogers in person meant so much to me, and why I’ve cherished those two tiny moments for so long.

Mister Rogers says I’m okay. So maybe I am.