I was a “Sesame Street” girl. Plain and simple. “Sesame Street” was my life. I am old enough to have watched the first season. There is a picture of me, in my little red corduroy jumper, sitting in my little rocking chair, watching “Sesame Street”. I look completely brainwashed. My face has gone dead with admiration and awe. “Electric Company” was, to my estimation, “too loud”. It began, after all, with Rita Moreno shrieking: “HEYYY, YOU GUYYYYYYYYYS!” I found that too loud. It was too rowdy. I was not a rowdy child. “Mr. Rogers” was not my scene, either, although I did watch it from time to time.
My sister Siobhan was the “Mr. Rogers” devotee in the house. She, as a 3 year old, referred to him as “Fred”. Clearly, they were on a first-name basis. “Fred’s on,” she would announce, marching towards the television.
She loved him.
We had some of his albums. With classics such as “Fancy” … I think that’s what it was called.
“Boys are fancy on the outside
Girls are fancy on the inside
Everybody’s fancy
Everybody’s fine
Your body’s fancy
And so is mine.”
Can you imagine a child-show host getting away with that now? But it wasn’t too sophisticated or jaded for a child’s taste. It spoke right into our listening as children. It seemed like information we needed to know, and it not only validated both sides, but we were both “fancy.” I admit, as a teeny little tot, I would say to myself, at times, with pride, “I’m fancy on the inside.” Why did I know this? Because “Fred” told me so.
I thank Mr. Rogers for that!
Thank you for your contribution, Fred! You have been a part of my consciousness as long as I can remember. A show like that will not come along again.
