Won't you be my neigbour?
Jan. 27th, 2003 10:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mousmeThis post in the Real Live Preacher's blog brought back lovely memories of watching Mr. Rogers' Neighbourhood on television. Yes, I'm Canadian, I spell it "neighbourhood" no matter how Mr. Rogers himself spells it.
For Canadians there's also Mr. Dress-Up, who kind of lost some of the magic once the puppets Casey and Finnegan were retired (and who knows whether Casey was a boy or a girl? It remains a mysetry to this day).
Of course, there's Sesame Street, which I ceased to enjoy after they introduced Elmo. But I remember avidly watching it as a small child and all the way into my teens when I was home sick. I used to watch it with my father, who loved Super Grover to the point where I would have to call him away from his work if ever there was a sketch with him involved. That and "Kermit The Frog, here, with the Sesame Street News."
I used to watch all three of those programs in the morning between nine and eleven, and afterwards have lunch with my father who would drive me to preschool along with four or five other kids in our big brown station wagon. All the kids used to want to carpool with us because my father was so funny: he instituted the "Carpool News" which was essentially just frivolous stuff about which child was doing what, who was home sick with chicken pox and what have you, but he'd have all of us shrieking with hysterical laughter within two or three minutes.
He used to tease my best friend Thomas, who was as hyperactive as the day is long, and mock-admonish him: "Don't break my car, Thomas!" My father is French Canadian, and has the amusing habit of inflecting the last syllable of that word, so that it comes out sounding almost hispanic, and this amused Tom to no end, and he'd bounce around on the back seat chanting "Break! Break! Break!"
And in the end it didn't matter because our car was a heap of junk anyway that wouldn't have passed any kind of safety test if people had bothered to check.
Thomas' mother drove a yellow and white Winnebago with a sun roof at the time, which was wuite the lark to play around in with him and his twin sister Emily. We lived together on the same street for 23 years, but I mostly lost track of them after we turned 15 or so. They became increasingly cool as I became increasingly nerdy, and they started avoiding me, more or less consciously. I still kind of miss them, even if sometimes they drove me to the edge and over.
They're living in Nova Scotia with their father and his wife now. Maybe I'll get a chance to see them again when they come to Montreal to visit their mother sometime this summer.
For Canadians there's also Mr. Dress-Up, who kind of lost some of the magic once the puppets Casey and Finnegan were retired (and who knows whether Casey was a boy or a girl? It remains a mysetry to this day).
Of course, there's Sesame Street, which I ceased to enjoy after they introduced Elmo. But I remember avidly watching it as a small child and all the way into my teens when I was home sick. I used to watch it with my father, who loved Super Grover to the point where I would have to call him away from his work if ever there was a sketch with him involved. That and "Kermit The Frog, here, with the Sesame Street News."
I used to watch all three of those programs in the morning between nine and eleven, and afterwards have lunch with my father who would drive me to preschool along with four or five other kids in our big brown station wagon. All the kids used to want to carpool with us because my father was so funny: he instituted the "Carpool News" which was essentially just frivolous stuff about which child was doing what, who was home sick with chicken pox and what have you, but he'd have all of us shrieking with hysterical laughter within two or three minutes.
He used to tease my best friend Thomas, who was as hyperactive as the day is long, and mock-admonish him: "Don't break my car, Thomas!" My father is French Canadian, and has the amusing habit of inflecting the last syllable of that word, so that it comes out sounding almost hispanic, and this amused Tom to no end, and he'd bounce around on the back seat chanting "Break! Break! Break!"
And in the end it didn't matter because our car was a heap of junk anyway that wouldn't have passed any kind of safety test if people had bothered to check.
Thomas' mother drove a yellow and white Winnebago with a sun roof at the time, which was wuite the lark to play around in with him and his twin sister Emily. We lived together on the same street for 23 years, but I mostly lost track of them after we turned 15 or so. They became increasingly cool as I became increasingly nerdy, and they started avoiding me, more or less consciously. I still kind of miss them, even if sometimes they drove me to the edge and over.
They're living in Nova Scotia with their father and his wife now. Maybe I'll get a chance to see them again when they come to Montreal to visit their mother sometime this summer.
