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Mr. Rogers had an intentional manner of speaking to children, which his writers called “Freddish”. There were nine steps for translating into Freddish: 

“State the idea you wish to express as clearly as possible, and in terms preschoolers can understand.” Example: It is dangerous to play in the street. ​​​​​​

“Rephrase in a positive manner,” as in It is good to play where it is safe.

“Rephrase the idea, bearing in mind that preschoolers cannot yet make subtle distinctions and need to be redirected to authorities they trust.” As in, “Ask your parents where it is safe to play.”

“Rephrase your idea to eliminate all elements that could be considered prescriptive, directive, or instructive.” In the example, that’d mean getting rid of “ask”: Your parents will tell you where it is safe to play.

“Rephrase any element that suggests certainty.” That’d be “will”: Your parents can tell you where it is safe to play.

“Rephrase your idea to eliminate any element that may not apply to all children.” Not all children know their parents, so: Your favorite grown-ups can tell you where it is safe to play.

“Add a simple motivational idea that gives preschoolers a reason to follow your advice.” Perhaps: Your favorite grown-ups can tell you where it is safe to play. It is good to listen to them.

“Rephrase your new statement, repeating the first step.” “Good” represents a value judgment, so: Your favorite grown-ups can tell you where it is safe to play. It is important to try to listen to them.

“Rephrase your idea a final time, relating it to some phase of development a preschooler can understand.” Maybe: Your favorite grown-ups can tell you where it is safe to play. It is important to try to listen to them, and listening is an important part of growing.

Mr. Rogers Had a Simple Set of Rules for Talking to Children - The Atlantic

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a poem i wrote about puerto rico when i was 13 and had never been to the island myself but liked to listen to my grandfather tell stories

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my friend had a dream where she woke up in a building with the interior of a boardwalk with an intense need to use the bathroom. she found signs that said "special bathrooms 🦽" and "normal bathrooms" (please dont be offended by this, it was just her dream). except, when she walked in the "normal bathrooms," because she wanted the other bathrooms to be accessible for those who needed it.

when she entered, there were signs separating ppl ten and older and nine and younger. when she walked into the ten and older section, she found herself in an active college lecture room, however, when she left, she found herself getting hit in the face with many soccer balls. now, she was in a soccer field.

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Me seeing y'all interact with your cool friends on Tumblr while I just use this app as a podcast to speak my intrusive thoughts :

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travelling europe with emily gilmore is actually a need

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me🤝my random communist uncle:

being the only ones to like each other’s political stories on instagram

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The little sapling sat in a little pot. She longed for the soil outside. She longed and longed. Her roots were trapped in the little pot that the human had so carefully and lovingly bought for her. That love so overwhelmed the human that they forgot to understand what the little sapling wanted. She wanted to grow. They did not know. The little sapling withered. They watered her. She did not want water. She withered some more. They watered some more. She grieved the gap that lay between them.

One day she withered away completely. The human grieved and lay her lovingly on the soil outside. At last she got the soil. Alas it was late.

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i bring a very 90s r&b/perfume commercial vibe to life not everybody likes or understands

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[image description: a tweet by user @indigenousAI saying

“fun fact: as a DV survivor i cannot register to vote because doing so makes my address public. anyone who is fleeing or hiding from an abuser is automatically disenfranchised from the political process and this is a feature, not a bug”]

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Vengo de pasados nostálgicos, de presentes sin descanso que me siguen pareciendo mágicos, sé que vendré de muchos futuros trágicos; pero la incertidumbre aunque predecible me sigue pareciendo algo inevitablemente hermoso y catartico.

Efimera Lunar Intemporal

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𝔖𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔱’𝔰 𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔦𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔶 𝔢𝔵𝔦𝔰𝔱.

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trump: *was shot on 7/13*

psalm 7:13:

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i hate when my spanish/AAVE code switching glitches when i read the word “chile”

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i feel like i have great media literacy and reading comprehension but no tv comprehension at all. i can read books for hours and my whole sense of humour is nothing but meme culture, but on tv i never understand what ads are trying to sell me, and i can watch the same old shows over and over again without remembering them so it’s like watching something new every time. can anybody relate or is it just me 🤔

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people mistakenly assume that bc i’m gay im a safe space for everyone. i am not. i will judge you.

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“I’ve been a massage therapist for many years, now. I know what people look like. People have been undressing for me for a long time. I know what you look like: a glance at you, and I can picture pretty well what you’d look like on my table. Let’s start here with what nobody looks like: nobody looks like the people in magazines or movies. Not even models. Nobody. Lean people have a kind of rawboned, unfinished look about them that is very appealing. But they don’t have plump round breasts and plump round asses. You have plump round breasts and a plump round ass, you have a plump round belly and plump round thighs as well. That’s how it works. And that’s very appealing too. Woman have cellulite. All of them. It’s dimply and cute. It’s not a defect. It’s not a health problem. It’s the natural consequence of not consisting of photoshopped pixels, and not having emerged from an airbrush. Men have silly buttocks. Well, if most of your clients are women, anyway. You come to male buttocks and you say – what, this is it? They’re kind of scrawny and the tissue is jumpy because it’s unpadded; you have to dial back the pressure, or they’ll yelp. Adults sag. It doesn’t matter how fit they are. Every decade, an adult sags a little more. All of the tissue hangs a little looser. They wrinkle, too. I don’t know who put about the rumor that just old people wrinkle. You start wrinkling when you start sagging, as soon as you’re all grown up, and the process goes its merry way as long as you live. Which is hopefully a long, long time, right? Everybody on a massage table is beautiful. There are really no exceptions to this rule. At that first long sigh, at that first thought that “I can stop hanging on now, I’m safe” – a luminosity, a glow, begins. Within a few minutes the whole body is radiant with it. It suffuses the room: it suffuses the massage therapist too. People talk about massage therapists being caretakers, and I suppose we are: we like to look after people, and we’re easily moved to tenderness. But to let you in on a secret: I’m in it for the glow. I’ll tell you what people look like, really: they look like flames. Or like the stars, on a clear night in the wilderness.”

— What People Really Look Like