When Sesame Street’s Elmo took to social media last week to touch base with followers in his trademark third-person style – “Elmo is just checking in! How is everybody doing?” – the response, an outpouring of angst and unhappiness, was immediate and at times intense.
People told him of their struggles with loss; their marriages, loved ones, pets, jobs, possessions.
They told him of their anguish over the state of the world and their inability to change its seeming trajectory into war and destruction.
And they told him of their general malaise: “Elmo, I’m feeling pretty sad right now. I think I need a hug."
Even celebrities and political figures added to the conversation, including President Biden:
“I know how hard it is some days to sweep the clouds away and get to sunnier days.
Our friend Elmo is right: We have to be there for each other, offer our help to a neighbor in need, and above all else, ask for help when we need it.
Even though it's hard, you're never alone.”
And while it may seem silly – a moment of cathartic exchange set off by a fuzzy member of the Children’s Television Workshop – it is certainly a testament to the lasting impact children's programming has had on our lives.
It's understood from studies dating back to the 1970s, when Sesame Street was still in its toddler years, that children's educational television has had a significant impact on our kids’ school readiness. We all practiced our colors, letters, and shapes from comforting monsters, some of whom lived in trash cans and were benignly grumpy. It made our parents happy.
These colorful, matted muppets perfectly demonstrated the wondrous nature children embody. They may have seemed like children, adults, or imaginary creatures, but these puppets were always safe and accessible.
Elmo was my daughter’s favorite. And for a good long while during her pre-verbal days, I wished he wasn’t.
I didn’t grow up with him. He didn't make me comfortable. At all. I didn’t like the high-pitched voice that confused tenses and referred to himself by name alone. I thought he was whiny. I scoffed at the idea that he was getting grammar wrong on purpose. “He’s using fishes as a noun! How can that be ok?”
But I had grown up. I had lost some of that wonder of childhood.
Elmo didn't speak my language. But he did speak my daughter's -- literally – he spoke the onset of speech for a person new to its practice. He forgot articles and repeated words, but he laughed a laugh of sheer joy that told my daughter getting it wrong isn't scary. He was gentle and sweet and he was learning just like his biggest fans.
It was during a week-long hospital stay when my daughter was 18 months old that I learned to love the sound of his voice as he kept my daughter not only calm but in good spirits.
That experience stayed with me as an adult in much the same way a fondness for wooly mastodons that seem a little sad, and vampires who love counting, had imprinted on my experiences of childhood.
I never said another unkind word about that marvelous monster again.
It's reassuring to know that he's still a creature in whom we can all take just a little bit of comfort.
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