Now that the civics lessons are done, I've been watching a tv series, and reading a book. And I think I've learned something we can use. Let me know what you think.

A Neighbour Abroad

The tv series I'm watching is called An Idiot Abroad. If you're British, you've probably seen it. If you're North American, you can probably find it on your streaming service. I hesitate to recommend it, because tastes vary. When I suggested it to my brother-in-law, who is an Earth Science teacher and car mechanic, he waved his hand dismissively. He'd seen some of it, and frankly, he was disgusted by it. So it may not be your cup of tea. Personally, I am enjoying it. Karl Pilkington is my kind of tourist.

Take his view of the wonders of Petra, Jordan. Now, I enjoyed that. It's an interesting bit of philosophy to go with the video of an enduring monument to human ingenuity.

Now, I suspect some of the series' popularity has to do with the yahoo factor. To my mind, the yahoo in question is not Mr Pilkington, who so far has been unfailingly kind and courteous to all he meets. (He seems to make the old folks laugh wherever he goes, and he's a good enough sport to try eating a tequila worm, much to the amusement of the Mexican cowboys.) No, the idiot is Ricky Gervais, a thoroughly unlikeable man whose braying laugh is grating. Fortunately, Mr Gervais' presence is usually felt only through his irritating phone calls and inane text messages.

The gimmick is that Pilkington doesn't like travel, particularly. And Gervais and his partner put him up in terrible hotels. They also egg the local cooks on to feed him whatever 'delicacy' is most likely to amuse a fifteen-year-old boy and make him say, 'Ewww! Gross!' I don't know how many fifteen-year-old boys are watching this, but I suspect there are fewer than the producers hope for. Perhaps they're banking on the rest of us keeping in touch with our inner fifteen-year-old. Personally, I had no idea sheeps' testicles looked like that, and I certainly wouldn't have tried to eat one. I have nothing but admiration for this intrepid traveller, who manages to keep his cool in weird situations while explaining to his gf in a text how to work the DVD player.

The most important reason I like Karl Pilkington, though, is that he's a good guest. He's polite to people, and concerned about them. Even after an exhausting camel ride – when he found out the locals actually travelled by SUV, he got in one and refused to come out again – he sat in the Bedouin tent, worried about offending his hosts. He gamely ate the dodgy food, listened to (and attempted to play) the unusual instrument, and stifled yawns far past his bedtime, just to be nice. He's the same way in Mexico, China, India…and he's less impressed by what he calls 'The Wonder' than the people. Watch him having chicken in an Egyptian KFC. With an all-deaf staff.

I have been out in public places with people who embarrassed me as companions. (The incident in the Tübingen Gaststätte with Suzy, the boiled egg, and the socks comes vividly to mind. And that was 35 years ago.) I would not be ashamed to be seen in public with Mr Pilkington. He remembers that we're all neighbours, and he acts like one.

A Neighbour at Home

I've just finished reading (okay, devouring) a book that arrived yesterday called Peaceful Neighbor: Discovering the Countercultural Mister Rogers, by Michael Long. Of course I wanted to read this: Fred Rogers, like Andrew Carnegie, was a person who made you proud to come from Pittsburgh. The book doesn't disappoint: it's an in-depth look at the way Rogers incorporated the issues of his day into his programmes for small children, and investigates his theological outlook. The author concludes, rightly I believe, that although Rogers was an ordained Presbyterian minister, at heart he was really a Quaker.

Anyway, what I liked most about the book – besides the inevitable funny and/or heartwarming anecdotes – was that the author appreciated the heart of Rogers' onscreen message to the very young: we're all neighbours. Life might seem dangerous or complex, and there may not be easy solutions to every dilemma. But we can get through the problems together, because we are involved with one another and wish each other well.

That's a lot different from the show I hated most as a preschooler, namely, Romper Room School. Listen to this, and you'll see why. According to Miss [Fill in Local Name Here, it was a bloomin' franchise], right action came from moral perfection. Phooey. Fred Rogers knew that right action came from neighbourly concern.

I'm so glad he was teaching my baby sister and all the little ones when I was a teenager. That friendly voice would stop me on my way through the den. I'd start watching, and then sit down with the rest of the babies. The man had a mesmerising quality. But I got why he talked like that: his listeners were the smallest citizens of our very confusing planet. He was a good guide through the perplexity of life, because he believed in being a good neighbour.

So what does that have to do with writing?

Quite a lot, I think. Do you approach a writing task in an adversarial way: I'll show them. (Or as the cartoonist has it, someone is wrong on the internet.)

Or do you rub your hands in glee at the way you will torture your readers/viewers/listeners/participants, like those reality people?

Or do you come to the world of learning and sharing as a neighbour, wanting to know more about life, the universe, and everything? Personally, I'd like a few more Karl Pilkingtons and Fred Rogerses in the world. What do you think?

Writing Right with Dmitri Archive

Dmitri Gheorgheni

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