SAD DAY IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD . . .
Mr. Rogers died of stomach cancer early this morning. Some thoughts:

I think he was my first friend.

For the longest time, I didn't know what he was saying, because I couldn't fully understand English until I was about 6 years old, but I liked him because he smiled nicely at me.

My 4-year-old Korean-language-only brain didn't yet grasp the concept of previously-recorded programming, so I thought Mr. Rogers actually DID live in his TV house, DID have a TV camera in his living room recording his every move, and DID have a cool mini-train leading to the puppet wonderland of King Friday (which I thought was a European country).

I wanted one of those trains and one of those wonderlands in my house, but worried that once I was transported to that alternate universe, I wouldn't be able to make it back to my family.

I also felt really bad for Mr. Rogers because he always had only one cardigan hanging in his closet - I thought he was poor and couldn't afford clothing.

I wondered how he always managed to catch the shoes he would toss back and forth between his hands. I figured it would be disastrously embarrassing if he dropped one, and I held my breath each episode until his sneakers were firmly on his feet.

Everything I saw, read and came to know about him indicated that he was a great man on all fronts.
Certainly, he cheered and enlivened my childhood afternoons.

Thank God for re-runs.