Remember Who You Are

More than a decade ago I met Mr. Rogers. I was working for the local PBS station and was attending the annual meetings in Miami. My wife and I were having breakfast in a big hotel conference room when a man with bushy white hair sat down on the other side of our round table.

I glanced over and, while he looked incredibly familiar, I couldn’t quite place him. After saying hello, I said, “You look really familiar to me . . . ” and he replied, “Well, you might have seen me on TV. I’m David Newell but you’d know me as Mr. McFeely from Mr. Rogers Neighborhood.” If only he had been wearing his “Speedy Delivery” uniform.

He not only had a role in the show, he also handled public relations for the “Neighborhood.” After chatting over sweet rolls and juice, he asked us if we’d like to meet Mr. Rogers. Would we? We quickly agreed to meet up in the hotel lobby the next morning. He asked us to keep this quiet—as Mr. Rogers always takes a moment with each and every person who wants to meet him. This act of kindness would sometimes require a lot of time, and, in the spirit of speedy deliveries, he wanted to keep the group small, if possible.

We shook hands with the patriarch of children’s television the next morning. But the real bonding took place from a distance as he spoke in a huge conference room later that day. In front of a group of professional broadcasters, Mr. Rogers said, “I realize that it isn’t very fashionable in an assembly such as this to talk about something’s being holy; nevertheless, if we ever want to rid ourselves of personal and corporate emptiness, brokeness, loneliness and fear, we will have to allow ourselves room for that which we cannot see or hear, touch . . . or control.” Then he shared this story.

“I know a couple whose five-year-old son kept pestering them to have some time alone with his newborn brother. His parents were concerned that his rivalous feelings might prompt him to hurt the baby, so they kept refusing.

Finally he was so insistent that they said, “All right, you can be with the baby but for just a minute." The mother and dad watched as their five-year-old walked to the crib.  He didn’t even touch the baby. All he did was say, “What was it like? I’m starting to forget.”

A few minutes later, Mr. Rogers gave everyone another thoughtful gift—one that I’d like to pass along to you, if you’re willing. In the dim room, Mr. Rogers continued speaking with his familiar voice, the kind tone each of us, as children, had come to trust.

“Right now I’d like to give you some quiet time to think of those who nourish you at the deepest parts of your being . . . anyone who has ever loved you and wanted what was best for you in life.

Some of those people may be here today, some may be far away, some may even be in heaven, but if they’ve encouraged you to come closer to what you know to be essential about life, they’re really inside of you; and I’d like you to have a minute to think of them and all they mean to who you are. I’ll watch the time.”

Mr. Rogers gave everyone a full minute to sit in the quiet, darkened room. Just months earlier I had lost my dad to cancer. He was first in my thoughts, followed by my mom, siblings, my wife and two young sons, other family, friends. Floodgates of gratitude opened as I sat and silently wept . . . along with every other person who was there, none of them alone.

November is a great month to take a moment to be grateful to everyone who has contributed to who you are. Take 60 seconds to think. Then, for any of those people that you still can, send them an e-mail just saying thanks. I plan to send one a day until Thanksgiving. Godspeed.