Mr Rogers has nothing to declare in customs
“Kindergarten on Zoom?!” I watch my grandkids pinballing around the living room. “Let’s find Mr. Rogers online.”
As the opening song twinkles up the xylophone, three little heads turn in unison, then sit, as if hypnotized. The one-year-old sucks her pacifier intently.
“Would you like to see what I’ve brought?” Mr. Rogers asks engagingly.
“Yes!” answers the three-year-old. The kindergartener is curious, too, ignoring the game on the iPad in his lap.
My daughter is delighted, and so relieved, even if only for five minutes.
Mr. Rogers is the kind of grandparent I aspire to be. Only problem is, I’m not the kind of person Mr. Rogers is on his show. He offers infinite patience. He always has time for children’s interests and concerns. But Mr. Rogers, how game would you be to play nonstop superheroes fighting bad guys? To engage with neverending dragon battles on a tiny screen? I’m Captain America one minute, Saint George the next. Or maybe I’m the dragon.
I’m so tired of fighting. This has been a very long year. One of many, in a long life now.
Each generation fights to be seen and heard, to feel like they have some kind of power. And each generation worries about the worldview of their children, afraid they haven’t taught them well enough. Haven’t taught them to see, or to listen. We all think: you can’t continue to fight fire with fire. Guns or flames, we’re all going down, this way. And then we all think: I can’t stop this, this is the way of the world.
Mr. Rogers has brought two suitcases with him into his house in The Neighborhood. He says they are for going on trips — but not to worry, he isn’t leaving. He reassures us he isn’t going anywhere. Instead, he explains he’s brought things to show us. He opens the old silver latches on the small suitcase to reveal: it is packed full of small hats. Doll hats. Puppet hats. Many hats that cannot fit on any real people, no matter how young, no matter how small.
I look at the kids. They are enthralled. By an old suitcase full of tiny hats. All thoughts of fighting have ceased. They are engrossed in their own curiosity.
These unexpected little hats have slipped past their habits and expectations. You can physically see the wonder, the questions forming, the engagement with possibilities yet unknown. Mr. Rogers asks, “Would you like me to show you what’s in the big suitcase?” They all lean forward in anticipation.
The world is bigger than we are, tiny people. So much awaits us, to be discovered.
All you heroes and dragonslayers, it’s okay to lay down your weapons for a moment, take off your sweaty helmets, and rest from your weary labors. Mr. Rogers is about to open the silver latches, his wisdom found in his gentle understanding: we all want to see and understand what is inside. He knew we need a quiet space to explore what we find. A safe space. Kindness.