Mr. Rogers, A Postmodern Prophet
When I was an early teen (a bit above the target audience), I found him on the PBS channel once we purchased one of those old UHF converters. He was woefully nerdy, signing painfully un-cool songs, and doing puppet shows I could have done in my basement – and I found myself strangely captivated.
I found Mr. Rogers to be “unique” to anyone I had known, and it’s taken me years to understand why. Mr. Rogers character came home from his daily occupation (whatever it was) and the first thing he did was remove his “business” motif – first his suit jacket for a sweater and then his dress shoes for some sneakers. He was an adult who became “real” as soon as he entered the extended home of my TV screen. He asked questions rather than giving answers. He spoke life lessons in the kingdom of make-believe. And chief among his message was the desire to be engaged in community – inviting me to be a neighbor.
I know now that Mr. Rogers was trained to be a Presbyterian minister – and though he was firmly a member of the “builder” or “greatest” generation, he was paving some post-modern paradigms whether he knew it or not. Being a neighbor is becoming a lost art among many of us today. I have to admit – I don’t know many people who live on my street. I know the crab grass in my front yard must be an object of disdain to those who live on both sides of me and I know that the guy who lives behind me has a stainless steel grill – but that’s about the extent.
Harry Truman noticed a negative phenomenon occurring as he made his daily walks after retirement in Independence MO – as soon as a neighbor got central air conditioning, they disappeared. This home-cooling invention I praise every summer here in Missouri also has a downside – it began the long cocooning process that most post-moderns exist in today. It’s been compounded by TV, electric garage doors, the internet, triple-pane windows, and on and on.
We’ve worked hard to build our privacy fences and designed our biggest windows to be away from the streets. Is it any wonder that emerging generations long for community? They desire to experience what it means to know those on your street on a first-name basis and know the blessing of “community in proximity.” Unlike Mr. Rogers, I don’t talk to my postal carrier, I don’t have someone drop by for a cup of sugar, and I don’t have that Officer Clemmons come knocking at my door (OK, maybe that last one is a good thing).
I do have communities to which I belong – my church, my career, my grandkid’s school, the folks at the pottery studio I frequent, fellow runners on the trail, and the restaurant I go to on Saturday morning, just to name a few. Yet, I’m still captivated by the concept of the community in proximity that I saw on Mr. Rogers. It doesn’t happen enough – and I feel a sense of loss.
Post-moderns are longing for true community – people who will invite them over to watch the big game, folks who will share their recipe for butternut squash soup, neighbors who can be trusted to watch the kids when an emergency occurs, people who will look beyond the privacy fences to check on their neighbors from time to time. Look at the last decade of sit-com’s on TV – the community in proximity still exists in our “Neighborhood of Make Believe.”
Post-moderns long for us to take off our office jacket and shoes, feed the fish, and engage in community. We need to ask questions and share life lessons. Maybe we shouldn’t do it in song, but our actions need to invite others into community.
I’ve got a cookie recipe that’s really great – and I’d love to know from the guy behind me what that wonderful smell is that comes from his grill during the summer. Maybe the “Neighborhood of Make Believe” Mr. Rogers created is becoming a call to us post-moderns. Won’t you be my neighbor?
