The Helpers Are Out There

The world is not as bleak as the news suggests

Last week I kicked off a communication workshop with a story about Mr. Rogers.

Some of the people in the audience were familiar with his show, Mr. Rogers Neighborhood, and some knew the movie A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, where Tom Hanks portrayed him.

I didn’t need for the group to be familiar with Mr. Rogers to get the point of the story I shared, but I did reflect afterwards how I wished America had exported Mr. Rogers Neighborhood to the rest of the world instead of Baywatch.

Sure, you can read how gentle and kind Mr. Rogers was, but it’s another thing to have experienced his calming presence in your home for years like so many kids of my generation (and others) did.

Yeah, this guy wore cardigans and had puppets, but he also talked about tough topics – divorce, death, and war. 

And during tough times, Mr. Rogers shared the advice his mother gave him when he was a boy:

“Look for the helpers.”

And on a recent visit home to the United States, I got to thinking about that.

Though Mr. Rogers was talking about helpers in response to “scary things” in the news, that idea of helping others extends far beyond wars and natural disasters.

And if you watch the news in the US (something I always do when I’m home) you might feel that there are no helpers out there anymore. 

The world is going to hell. 

Everything is bad and getting worse.

That’s certainly the impression I got after watching US news recently.

But that’s just not the reality I experienced when I was there.

A few days after I arrived in Florida, I found myself driving through a torrential downpour. 

I had two hungry kids in the backseat, who were tired after more than three hours in the car, and I pulled into a Chick-fil-A to get something to eat.

I saw two attendants standing outside and rolled down my window as I approached them. 

I expected a crowd of cars, but then I realized – I was at the pick-up window.

“I’m so sorry,” I said to the young man who approached me.

“I’ve come in at the wrong place. We haven’t ordered yet.”

I hoped he’d indicate where I needed to go, but instead, he said:

“That’s OK, what can we get you?”

I didn’t see the menu, and I haven’t been to a Chick-fil-A in years. 

“Um…a couple of kids’ meals? A chicken sandwich?”

At this point, I didn’t really care what I got. I just wanted to feed the kids and get to the hotel.

And this nice young man wasn’t frustrated with me for coming in at the wrong place. 

He was patient – and kind. 

He helped. 

My American accent would not have indicated to him that I had traveled from the UK, and that I was jet-lagged and exhausted. 

He wouldn’t have known how much his kindness – his help – meant to me at that moment.

I saw more kindness the next day when I took my kids to Disney World.

After dinner we got in line for our last ride of the day, the Slinky Dog Dash.

Unfortunately, our ride on the Tower of Terror earlier that evening had lived up to its name – and my younger child did not want to go on another ride.

I hoped that I’d be able to convince him while we waited in line.

I can be quite persuasive – and I did have 100 minutes to make my case.

But there was no convincing him. 

And my daughter was desperate to go on the ride.

But the upside of waiting in line for a long time is that you get to chat with others. 

The father and daughter in front of us who were from Ohio, and the dad and I had both grown up riding The Beast and The Racer at Kings Island, a theme park in Cincinnati.

He and his daughter also tried to convince my son the ride would be fun, but as we got closer to the front, the dad noticed my predicament.

“If your son doesn’t want to go on the ride, we can take your daughter,” he offered. “She can sit next to my daughter.”

The ride had 2 seats per row, so I knew this meant he wouldn't be sitting with his daughter.

“That’s really kind of you, but I don’t want you to miss being with your daughter,” I said.

But he insisted, and his daughter seemed excited to go on the ride with another girl. 

So my son and I stood on the platform and watched as the two girls climbed in to the roller coaster.

My daughter was thrilled to go on the ride – and my son was relieved he didn’t have to.

And I was touched by this simple act of kindness from a stranger.

A few nights later, I drove to Tampa to take my daughter to see Taylor Swift in concert.

I thought Taylor would be a great first concert for her, but neither of us were prepared for the scene as we walked into a packed Raymond James Stadium.

I was expecting to see a lot of young women dressed up with glitter and sequins. 

What I hadn’t expected was just how LOUD a Taylor Swift concert (with 65,000 enthusiastic fans) would be – especially for a nine-year-old.

Even before Taylor’s set began, my daughter looked at me with big eyes and said, “Mom, it’s so LOUD.”

I cupped my hands over her ears, trying to block the sound as Taylor sang Cruel Summer.

But before the song could end, a pair of young women who were sitting behind us tapped me on the shoulder.

Without saying anything, they handed me a pair of earplugs, and pointed at my daughter.

These two young women – who were probably having the best night of their lives – saw a little girl not having as much fun – and they helped. 

Maybe these stories all fall in the category of “random acts of kindness”, but all three of these experiences reminded me how right Mr. Rogers was.

The helpers are out there.

And I hope – that despite a sea of negative press coverage – my fellow Americans will remember that, too.

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Beth Collier loves writing, pop culture, and people who show kindness to others.

She also loves helping companies, leaders, and teams improve their communication (and creativity and leadership) through consulting, coaching, and workshops.

Her clients benefit from Beth’s global corporate experience, Midwestern practicality and enthusiasm, and an endless supply of pop culture references.

To find out how Beth can help you become a more confident, creative, and compelling leader – or improve communication in your company – visit www.beth-collier.com or drop her a line at beth@beth-collier.com

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