Book Review: The Simple Faith of Mister Rogers by Amy Hollingsworth

(Photo from Angela's Clues)

When I am enjoying a book I read slowly and purposefully. I back up and read the sentence, or even the page, again to be certain that I have absorbed all that I can in that moment. I savor a good book like an expensive celebratory meal, and The Simple Faith of Mister Rogers was indeed worthy of such a purposeful pace.

I have a list of at least a dozen people I would like to buy a copy for, but reality will limit that to just a couple. I do know that I will buy a lending copy and take a photo of the lendee holding the book that I may use for public shame if it is not returned in a timely manner. This book needs to be read and shared and read again!


I think I understand why this book has made such an impact upon me, but want to continue to contemplate the reasons. I will say that it touched me at every age; from first memories to my future old-lady self and then my dead-and-gone self. This book reached beyond me, far beyond, to help me see clearer the people I cherish and the ones that I have a choice to cherish more sincerely.

The author, Amy Hollingsworth, had a vibrant correspondence and friendship with Fred Rogers. This impresses me because personally, I have never had much success as a letter-writer. Sending letters seems to get me in trouble or go across as confrontational, regardless of my intent. As a teenager and young adult my letters were read by unintended recipients and there I was; real, honest, raw feelings and actions exposed and the results were judgment and shame rather than a loving embrace, acceptance and sound counsel.

On one particular occasion I mailed a lengthy letter in which I was attempting to say, "I need you in my life now more than ever and this (sharing hurts and vulnerabilities) is why I need you so."  It had more of a tsunami affect resulting in estrangement. The cost was high and my entire household continues to pay the price of that stamp. On a different and less traumatic occasion, my letter ruffled feathers and stirred pains in the receiver that I did not know what to do with and the result is a strained relationship. The easiness that I felt before is no longer there. I broke us by being myself and sharing my honest thoughts. I retreated and  accepted the same messages as an adult that I got as a teenager; shame for feeling, judgment for believing, out of step for speaking.

As a result of my unsuccessful letter-writing career, I now tend to keep it to note cards where the harm will be minimal (crossing my fingers) if I'm misunderstood. And sincerely, I am hoping the receiver will sense kindness at the very least when they receive a note in the mailbox when the normal venues of communication in 2016 are less tangible.

I hardly read a page of this book that a tear didn't roll down my cheek. I placed my bookmark at the end of many chapters and lay it aside so that I could sob, and heal and understand. Thank you, Amy Hollingsworth, for sharing your insights and allowing me to be the receiver of Fred Rogers intended messages, that it is okay to feel and it's right and good to be honest and kind and to see the beauty in others and in myself.