Mr. Rogers and Empathetic Leadership

I’m a child of the Mr. Rogers generation. I loved the guy, like countless other kids. He was kind. He was curious. He didn’t take himself too seriously and he taught me interesting things. It felt like he really cared about me. Years later, looking back at Mr. Rogers and his neighborhood through my (slightly) more mature, perhaps cynical adult eyes, I asked the question, What’s this guy’s deal? You’ve probably heard the urban myths over the years like I did: He was a sniper in the Vietnam War. He wore that cardigan to cover up the tattoo sleeves on his arms. His children’s television show was just a cover to mask his violent, criminal past. None of it true, of course. But why did those rumors exist in the first place? Did Mr. Rogers do anything in particular to elicit these outlandish rumors about him?

Well, sort of. He was hard to peg. He defied our traditional understanding of many things, including masculinity. We couldn’t understand how someone can be that kind. That loving. That patient. Especially if that person is a man (and those kids aren’t even his!). There had to be another angle.

By all accounts, though, there was no other angle. No ulterior motive. Mr. Rogers was as advertised. Now, in fairness, I never knew the guy. I don’t know what kind of person he was behind the scenes. But, it seems fairly clear that he believed that there were important values and lessons that children needed to learn, and that in order to do that effectively, he needed to put himself out there and speak their language. On their level. In a way that they could understand. He had to put them first. He was resolute in this mission and as a result, had tremendous cultural influence. Through his show, Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood, Fred Rogers played an outsized role in the formative years of countless children, including me.

Fast forward to present day, and I’m a bit conflicted. I’m a father of two, and there’s nothing more important to me than raising my kids right. I want to help them grow up to be good, strong people who can handle all that life throws at them, even the hard stuff. Especially the hard stuff. Yes, I want them to have a solid foundation of self-worth, to be kind, to embrace love, and to be a good citizen (neighbor)—all values endlessly championed by Mr. Rogers. I’m also determined to not allow them to grow up to be coddled, entitled, or, for lack of a better word, soft—also traits often laid at the feet of Mr. Rogers and his neighborhood. Critics have blamed Fred Rogers and his self-esteem crusade for the perceived narcissistic, entitled, self-indulgent tendencies of today’s millennial generation. “He told them how special they were, and now they think the world revolves around them!” We’ll save that topic for another day. What I’m drawn to are two traits that aren’t often top of mind when you mention the name Mr. Rogers. Specifically, the unique courage and leadership ability that was hiding underneath that cardigan.

I’m a former college athlete and someone who, up until recently, made his living working in the alpha-dominated world of professional sports. Part of the appeal of that path for me was that I have always been drawn to the values that sport and competition promote: sacrifice, toughness, perseverance, and grit, to name a few. Sports are the ultimate meritocracy. You may be special just the way you are, but that doesn’t guarantee you a starting spot in the lineup. I’ve also seen how leadership (or at least the attempt at it) can often be displayed in that arena: macho, vocal, aggressive. Not exactly Mr. Rogers’ MO.

Nonetheless, Fred Rogers led what amounts to a cultural revolution among parents and kids not by asserting his by power or authority, but rather by leaning in with empathy and authenticity. He really did care about his neighbor, and he really didn’t care if anyone else struggled to understand that or made fun of him for it. That takes real courage. He was gentle, patient, and able to poke fun at himself. He delved into some mature subject matter in a way that resonated with a young, impressionable audience. And all the while, he was willing to play whatever role necessary to get the job done: host, neighbor, puppeteer, you name it. He put others first, and we loved him for it.

There are some funny scenes in the film A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, where you can see the palpable frustration, almost anger, by Lloyd Vogel (played by Matthew Rhys), the journalist assigned to profile Fred Rogers (played by Tom Hanks), when Rogers continually redirects the questions back at his interviewer. Vogel thinks he’s dodging the question or being coy, but ultimately later realizes, no—Rogers is genuinely interested in him. He’s actively listening. And he cares.

There’s an inherent vulnerability that comes with putting someone else’s needs before our own, and being willing to put yourself in that position takes courage. A lot of us have grown up to be a little skeptical, maybe even distrusting, of someone who is offering something without expecting anything in return. What’s the catch? But that’s exactly what Mr. Rogers did. He loved. He cared about our feelings. He invested himself in others. And the return on that investment? He’s arguably the most beloved person in the history of children’s television and the inspiration for at least one mediocre blog post.

He also serves as a unique model for leaders who choose to embrace empathy and vulnerability as strength. He was unapologetically authentic; so comfortable in his own skin that it at times made others uncomfortable. He demonstrated an unassuming, yet no less impressive brand of courage by quietly and calmly standing out front and doing what he felt needed to be done. The response he received from people (not just children) was overwhelming. We responded that way because we craved that love, that understanding, and that feeling that someone believed in us. That yes, we are special. We’ll follow someone who makes us feel that way. So, yes, while I occasionally lament “kids these days” and yell at the clouds of entitlement and narcissism, I’m grateful for what Mr. Rogers helped teach me, even if it took me a little time and distance to absorb some of the lessons. Lessons about how to be a good neighbor, and ultimately, a good leader. So, I guess my message to my kids will go something like this: you are special just the way you are. And I love you. Now, rub some dirt on it and go try harder.