In this age of modern media, we’re all used to hearing about
famous people who’ve died.
In this age of modern media, we’re all used to hearing about famous people who’ve died. Princess Diana, Kurt Cobain, Jacqueline Kennedy, and the list goes on and on. But there’s something about learning that Mr. Rogers has died that just seems, well, wrong.
Maybe it’s because we never expect our childhood icons to ever die. Or perhaps it seems wrong that another part of our youth should disappear. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because that while there are few things in this world that you can truly count on, you could always, ALWAYS count on the fact that everyday Mr. Rogers would enter his television house, change into a sweater and tennis shoes, and feed the goldfish. And, even though his cardigan collection wasn’t all that great, somehow that simple act itself was reassuring.
Let me explain.
Fred Rogers and I go back. Waaaaay back. I found him purely by accident on public television one Saturday morning while trying to fill my free time between Sesame Street episodes. Frankly, I was a bit skeptical at first. I mean, every kid under 5 knows that any show worth watching needs a cast of adults dressed in animal suits and some catchy nursery rhymes. Frankly, compared to all of that, this gentle, soft-spoken man with his hand puppets and trolley was, well, boring.
But for some strange reason I kept watching. And watching.
Then one day it happened. He looked up from tying his shoelaces and said, slowly, and in a way only a 4-year-old could understand: “You-can-never-go-down-the-drain.”
Clearly, this was a man who spoke to my very soul.
And that’s not all. Over the years Mr. Rogers went on to give me all sorts of comforting information that I couldn’t get anywhere else. He told me that people will like me for who I am. He told me that I was special. And, on top of that, he showed me how to tie my shoes over and over again, without once getting mad. I was putty in his hands.
The funny thing is that when I told my 8 and 10-year-old children that Mr. Rogers had died, they looked at me and said, “Who?”
“You know,” I said. “The man with all of the same sweaters.”
They instantly knew.
Let me just say, we haven’t just lost someone who had a popular television show for 30 years. We’ve lost one of the few people who, in this violent and complicated world, could still look us in the eyes and tell us that we can never, ever go down the drain.
And we’d believe him.
Good-bye, Mr. Rogers. And thank you.
You Can Never Go Down the Drain
© 1969 Fred M. Rogers
You can never go down
Can never go down
Can never go down the drain.
You can never go down
Can never go down
Can never go down the drain.
You’re bigger than the water.
You’re bigger than the soap.
You’re much bigger than all the bubbles.
And bigger than your telescope
So you see …
You can never go down
Can never go down
Can never go down the drain.
You can never go down
Can never go down
Can never go down the drain.
The rain may go down
But you can’t go down.
You’re bigger than any bathroom drain.
You can never go down
Can never go down
You can never go down the drain.
Debbie Farmer’s column appears every Monday.
