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Monday, In which I have a moment of unusual clarity I think I just had an epiphany. A very weird epiphany, admittedly, but an epiphany nonetheless. I was watching "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood" (don't ask), the episode where he was chatting with Mr. Feeley while clambering around the set on a pair of stilts, and I was idly remembering the early days of the show when I was an impressionable child and thought he was just the coolest thing on toast. I abruptly realized just how impressionable I must have been, because it finally hit me after 34 years -- one of the specific "looks" that always make me sit up and pay attention to a man is straight dark hair, fair skin with a bit of 5 o'clock shadow, big soulful eyes, a moderately weak chin and a lanky body. Oh, my God. I wanted to jump Mr. Rogers. The scream startled some grackles roosting outside my window, and I had to hyperventilate for a few moments before I could get myself back under control. There's no way I can plausibly deny this -- there are too many boyfriends and objets d'squidge in my history with this exact look. Now I understand why I developed this incredible disdain for the show as I got older -- my pubescent mind couldn't handle the concept of lusting after someone who constantly asked, "Can you say that?" and played with a magic trolley, and just shut down the entire concept. Of course, now that I'm older I can appreciate just what the man did for children's television -- he was a pioneer in producing shows that were entertaining, non-preachy while promoting values like tolerance and individuality, and a safe haven for kids exposed to ever-increasing levels of media and real-life violence. Productions like Veggietales and Sesame Street owe a definite spiritual debt to MRN. And you have to admit, the jazz piano soundtrack to the shows was really a nifty touch. But. . oh, God, I still have a hard time assimilating this. Talk about the ultimate substitute parental-figure -- it's like wanting to do your pastor. And here I'd always thought that the sarcastic yet babelicious teacher from high school was the one who set the mold for my adult sexuality -- turns out he just added the final trimmings. In my secret heart of hearts, I wanted to grow up and marry Fred Rogers. Whoa. . .
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