Don’t you hate it when someone makes you feel invisible? I’m still scarred for life by the Romper Room teachers and the way they signed off their show with that stupid magic mirror.

Romper, bomper, stomper, boo,
Tell me, tell me, tell me do.
Magic mirror, tell me today
Did all my friends have fun at play?

My four-year-old self would sit inches away from the television willing the teacher to see the good do-bee that I was trying to be at home, but she never did. Oh, she saw my sisters, Linda and Laura, at least once a week, but never saw Lois. Not once ever! I mean ever! Being invisible is traumatizing. (Excuse while I blow my nose).

I was the best darned good do-bee I could be, and I tried really hard to never be a don’t-bee, but it didn’t matter. The Romper Room teachers never saw or acknowledged me.I guess that is why to this day, I get frustrated when people are in the same room with me, but not really there with me.

I suppose everyone has experienced trying to talk to someone who was not truly present and in the moment with them. There have been times I have shared things with friends and family members that I have been really excited about or thought important only to get a polite, “Umm Hmmm,” as they continue to stare at their computer, television, or cellphone. (They have no idea it’s like friggin’ Romper Room all over again for me)!

Because I’m so sensitive to this sort of thing, when people are with me I try to make them feel heard, understood, and acknowledged. Being present for someone else means my feelings, personal concerns, needs, or accomplishments temporarily take a backseat to theirs. In my experience, most adults have trouble suspending their sense of self-importance, but Mister Rogers never seemed to have that difficulty.

Fred Rogers was a remarkable teacher and man! He was a kind soul who truly knew how to be present in the moment with you, even if you were just a kid. Best of all, he liked me just the way I was, and he told me so.

You can absorb so much for watching a man like Mister Rogers. He was a genuinely kind human being with not a false bone in his body. Kids can spot things like that. I watched him …  I mean, I really watched him.

I learned from Mister Rogers’ how to gift someone with my full and complete attention. Mister Rogers’ never multitasked. He knew no one could effectively attend to two things at once. Even though I was at home watching him on television, I felt like I was getting his full and undivided attention. It felt like he genuinely cared about me.

I loved the non-hurried way he spoke to everyone. He made time for people and wasn’t always rushing off to see someone else in the neighborhood. I’d watch him give his full attention to anyone who was in the room with him. He maintained amazing eye contact with the individuals (one of the most powerful forms of human connection) and he really listened. He made any person lucky enough to be in his presence feel warm, safe, valued, and most of all heard.

I also loved the way Mister Rogers would always recap or summarize what a person shared. He would be silent and wait for you think about what he said. Sometimes he’d even count the seconds on a clock while he gave us time to think. He never rushed.

As a young child, I learned Mister Rogers’ facial expressions, gestures, and even the tone of his voice were clues that told me what he was thinking and feeling. He told all of us out in television land that he valued us, and as strange as it may sound, in return I learned to value myself.

Children need more people like Mister Rogers in their lives. Scratch that, the world needs more people in it like Mister Rogers. I am so grateful to have had him as part of my childhood. (Romper Room … eh … not so much).