I'd be his neighbor...

I've spoken of my mad love for Mr. Fred Rogers before, but it never hurts to bring him up again. He helped me and my children through the deaths of grandparents and great grandparents. He posthumously prepared my children for their future siblings with love and care. He showed me how crayons are made and introduced me to top notch jazz musicians. I got to watch Chef Brockett make cakes and, years later, play a dangerous mental psychopath cell neighbor of Hannibal Lecter. Chew on that for a minute. He taught me that I was special and that "it's such a good feeling to know you're alive." Now, in the wake of the school tragedy, it is such a comfort to still have his words to share with my kids. I love this:



In the midst of the tragedies, we tend to focus on the horrible...the unspeakable. But there is so much good in the world, so many people ready to help without thinking twice. Kids need to know this.

On a completely different, trivial and stupid note, we went to the mall today. As usual, it was a chore to keep the kids from noticeably speaking the words "Paul Blart" when the very similar looking man drove by on a Segueway. It was complicated by the fact that he was singing, "Bom chicka wow wow...chicka boom boom...chicka boom wow." Beatboxing mall cop...doing the sepentine in front of Williams-Sonoma. The hub looked back at me, the kids shook their heads in amazement and I kept saying, "Blog alert. Blog alert."

Some people may have found him strange or too simplistic or too sweatery or too milquetoast, but I will forever possess an undying love of Fred Rogers and the love and respect he showed to children. Never talked down to them, always loved them.



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