My son Mingus may be the greatest Fred Rogers fan of all time. During the heat of his most addictive phase about 10 years ago, we restricted him to two Mr. Rogers episodes per day (he had taped about 200) because he would get angry at us not answering his questions in accordance with the text of the show. So, after viewing his two shows, he'd spend most of the rest of his free time mumbling quietly to himself, recreating verbatim the episodes he wanted to watch that were being denied to him. His wardrobe at the time was heavy on button-up sweaters and a huge impetus for him learning to tie his shoes--not an easy thing for him--was Mr. Rogers' daily example.
Mingus was subdued when he came home yesterday afternoon, having heard the news from his 9th grade English teacher. He spent most of dinner in a lather about the dilemma he would face today in school, knowing that he needed to talk about his fallen hero, and anticipating the teasing that will inevitably ensue. His reading of the morning paper is usually confined to announcing the highs and lows of the weather, plus meteorologist Paul Douglas's pithy paragraph. But today, despite eyesight that makes gleaning the Strib's print very difficult, he plowed through a recitation of the entire Neal Justin story, and caught a little bit of the Nightline show about Rogers that we taped for him last night.
Anyone who knows my son is captivated by his exceedingly gentle nature, generous temperament, and utterly guileless personability. Fred Rogers played a vital role in the formation of those traits. May he rest, as he lived, in peace.
