the thing about mr. rogers is i don’t even remember the details. i don’t remember anything about his house, i couldn’t tell you the name of any of the neighbors, i wouldn’t be able to recount any story lines. i can only see his smiling face.
i just remember that i would walk home from school, tug the silver chain from my backpack and turn the dangling key in the front door lock. i just know that i’d turn on the TV and he’d already be there, going about his business.
it made me feel safe.
some of my best memories are like that. they are a feeling, or a scent, or a sound.
it’s almost as if adding any detail would just ruin it.