That morning Fred Rogers whispered in my ear

By Michael Patrick O’Brien–

The new Tom Hanks movie A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood is giving me some rather intense flashbacks. My mind is awash with memories of that one morning I woke up to Mr. Rogers whispering in my ear.

Before you read any further, this is not a sordid tale, another #MeToo revelation, or some sort of tabloid smear of the late and beloved host of the long running children’s PBS television program. No, this is a simple story about how I awoke to the possibility of great wisdom softly whispered from unexpected places.

It was the 1980s, and I was home from college (the University of Notre Dame) for the summer, staying with my mother. She had a small one-bedroom apartment in Washington Terrace, a suburb of Ogden, Utah. My room was the living room, and my bed was the sofa bed. 

Inevitably, even on days when she did not have to go to work, she was up before me (I kept odd, night-owl hours in my late teens and early twenties). One morning, apparently weary of waiting for me to get up out of bed, she turned on the television, volume set on low, or so she thought.

I usually could sleep through her morning routine and wandering around her own living room and the adjacent kitchen. Today was different. Was that Fred Rogers whispering in my ear? Yes, it was: “Can you say ‘Good morning?’ Sure, I knew that you could. I like the way you say that.” 

I was perplexed. Why was Mom watching a children’s show, and why this particular one? (Mom also liked the Bob Ross painting show on PBS, but that will have to be the subject of another blog post!)

For most of the first two decades of my life, I either ignored or mocked Mr. Rogers. He wasn’t really hip. What was cool was Eddie Murphy’s urban comedic sketch on SNL called “Mr. Robinson’s Neighborhood.” (See: When ‘Mr. Robinson’s Neighborhood’ Premiered on ‘Saturday Night Live’) I just liked Eddie better than Freddie.

Moreover, Fred’s show was too slow. When it came to children’s shows, I always preferred Sesame Street, and its Muppet-filled, fast-moving, high-spirited antics. Even today, I still watch the classic video tune “Put Down the Duckie” (check it out here, if you’ve never had the pleasure: Sesame Street – “Put Down the Duckie” )

So on that home-from-college morning, when rolling over did not make Fred Rogers’ almost-sickly-sweet voice go away, I sat up, rubbed some of the sleep out of my eyes, and asked Mom, “Why are you watching THAT show?” Without hesitation, she said, “I like him. He’s nice. He makes me feel calm and good.”

I think that was the end of the discussion. I sighed, grabbed my pillow, went into her bedroom, and crashed for another hour, letting her watch King Friday, Daniel Tiger, and Henrietta Pussycat in peace. 

Over the next several years, I caught snippets of the show, and read about some of the things Fred said or wrote. I paid a bit more attention now to the man who made my mother feel so good. I started to hear all the now-famous profound Fredisms. You know which ones I mean:

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’”

“It’s not so much what we have in this life that matters. It’s what we do with what we have.”

“Nobody else can live the life you live.”

“The connections we make in the course of a life—maybe that’s what heaven is.”

And of course, there are so many others. His soft-spoken, understated, simple manner of conveying great wisdom, quietly, also helped me finally understand something my own mother always said—“Empty bells ring the loudest.”

I may not have paid any attention to Mr. Rogers if my Mom had not made him whisper in my ear that one summer morning so long ago. He’s still whispering today: “Can you say ‘Thanks for turning on that TV Mom?’ Sure, I knew that you could.”

*Mike O’Brien is a writer and attorney living in Salt Lake City, Utah. He is writing a book about growing up with the monks at the old Trappist monastery in Huntsville, Utah.