One of my first-ever memories is watching family friends deliver a stuffed animal to my newborn sister.
They gave tiny Melane a giant Oscar the Grouch, his mouth permanently open and his googly eyes frozen in one direction.
"That's not fair," I remember thinking. "She doesn't even know who Oscar the Grouch is."
I don't think that my toddler mind grasped that I was being a bit too, well, grouchy.
Melane and I have shared an affection for Sesame Street ever since. Grover, Big Bird, Bert and Ernie, Snuffleupagus, Prairie Dawn, the Count, Cookie Monster. We sang, counted and laughed with them all.
Those characters and their lessons stuck with us. They're part of our childhood lore. This summer, we even bought matching Sesame Street shirts.
The iconic program has endured for almost 50 years, delighting children who eventually became parents who, in turn, sat their own children in front of televisions for an hour of gentle entertainment (and debated the merits of newcomer Elmo). That leaves a giant group of us reminiscing as Carroll Spinney, who has been the voice of Oscar and Big Bird since the beginning of Sesame Street in 1969, recently announced his retirement.
Spinney has earned his break. Imagine how many children he has influenced, with that childlike wonder and curiosity that is Big Bird and the remarkable self-awareness of no-nonsense Oscar. He's performed in thousands of episodes, showing children both how to be a cheerful friend and how to create healthy boundaries.
My children were Sesame Street fans of their own volition, at a time when the children's entertainment market was exponentially bigger than during my 1970s childhood. Cable television, DVRs, on-demand programming and mobile apps offer access to an overwhelming number of choices directed at young people — some worth half an hour a day, most of it distressingly insipid.
The recent documentary Won't You Be My Neighbor? reminded the nation of how much we need humane, affirming content for children and their adults. Programming like Sesame Street and Mister Rogers' Neighborhood allows children to be children — to act their age, to explore emotions, to learn appropriate ways to express those feelings.
The best of child-centered programs and literature don't condescend.
They don't force mature content. They celebrate the joy of childhood — and acknowledge its difficulties, while offering age-appropriate explanations and solutions. They embrace kindness.
Adults carry the responsibility of helping children choose content that is good for the mind and soul. Fred Rogers is no longer with us, though episodes live on online at misterrogers.org. Spinney is retiring, but Big Bird and Oscar will continue. And there are tools to help parents sift through the clutter to choose appropriate content. (Common Sense Media is my go-to source, even now with two teens in the house.)
Adults are also responsible for exposing children to life beyond a screen. All of those lessons on counting and sorting, rhyming and sharing don't mean much until kids develop those skills in the real world, with real people. And every one of us needs practice facing the Big Birds of the world when we're feeling more Oscar the Grouchy.
Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.
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| From Sesame Street Workshop |
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