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Thursday, June 25th, 2009
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5:25 pm - while reading the Wikipedia entry on Mr. Rogers, I found this.
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During the 1997 Daytime Emmys, the Lifetime Achievement Award was presented to Rogers. The following is an excerpt from Esquire Magazine's coverage of the gala, written by Tom Junod:
Mister Rogers went onstage to accept the award — and there, in front of all the soap opera stars and talk show sinceratrons, in front of all the jutting man-tanned jaws and jutting saltwater bosoms, he made his small bow and said into the microphone, "All of us have special ones who have loved us into being. Would you just take, along with me, ten seconds to think of the people who have helped you become who you are. Ten seconds of silence."
And then he lifted his wrist, looked at the audience, looked at his watch, and said, "I'll watch the time."
There was, at first, a small whoop from the crowd, a giddy, strangled hiccup of laughter, as people realized that he wasn't kidding, that Mister Rogers was not some convenient eunuch, but rather a man, an authority figure who actually expected them to do what he asked. And so they did. One second, two seconds, seven seconds — and now the jaws clenched, and the bosoms heaved, and the mascara ran, and the tears fell upon the beglittered gathering like rain leaking down a crystal chandelier. And Mister Rogers finally looked up from his watch and said softly "May God be with you," to all his vanquished children.
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| Sunday, October 23rd, 2005
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12:33 am - from The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros
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A House of My Own
Not a flat. Not an apartment in back. Not a man's house. Not a daddy's. A house all my own. With my porch and my pillow, my pretty purple petunias. My books and my stories. My two shoes waiting beside the bed. Nobody to shake a stick at. Nobody's garbage to pick up after.
Only a house quiet as snow, a space for myself to go, clean as paper before the poem.
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| Thursday, January 30th, 2003
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1:03 am - from "My Left Breast" by Susan Miller
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But, nothing can save you. Not your friends, not the best Fred Astaire musical you've ever seen--the grace of it, not your mother's beauty, not a line from a letter you find at the bottom of a drawer, not a magazine or the next day. Nothing can save you. And you stand in the moonlight and a sweetness comes off the top of the trees, and the fence around the yard seals you off from the dark and you can't breathe. It is all so familiar and possible. It is too simple that there is this much good and you don't know how to have it. And it makes you wonder when it was you lost your place. Then you catch a breeze, so warm and ripe, it makes you hope that someone will come who also cannot save you, but who will think you are worth saving.
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