March 20th is the late Fred Rogers' birthday and we're all supposed to wear a sweater. I will wear a green button-down number in honor of this gentle genius that set the bar for unfettered humanness. And I will be humbled.

This symbol is a warm reminder that a man lived to dedicate his life, through the medium of television, to making children feel safe and loved. His books, written for those same children, now grown, opened the understanding of love to a generation of adults.

But that sweater. Once worn, he was fully present. It was the signal that everything in the world was OK. You knew that his quiet understanding and acceptance was right there in front of you, wrapped in the embodiment of love, zipped to his collar.

His example was always one of Good. No anger, no pretense, and particularly no judgment. You were good because you were you. There was not a standard or an expectation. "It’s you I like, it’s not the clothes you wear, it’s not the way you do your hair..." He taught us unconditional love. Is there such a place that we learn this anymore?

I am unable to wear my sweater, upholding the spirit of this man, without the accompanying behavior. If I put on my sweater the morning of March 20th, than I must do the things, and perform the functions, that follow the example he set; it’s not enough just to look like him. So I am prepared, as all of you should be, to carry out his mission, to further the legacy of this genuine human being.

Today, I will be more accepting. I will see you, through the haze of activity, as important and meaningful. It's good that you're here with me.

I will refrain from passing judgment. I will see you as you are, without the question of your motives or your meaning. Today, if we pass by one another, I will see you just as you, another soul sharing the world.

I will listen. When you speak, I will look directly into your eyes, without saying a word. There is no need for dialogue today. You will be heard, and my ears will be opened.

Throughout the day I will speak softly. I will choose what I say carefully and commit to making my speech more deliberate. I will not use volume to make myself heard.

And today, I will smile. No upset will cross my countenance. My focus is on this mission: to honor his symbol of love by being kind, no matter the context or circumstance.

Lastly, I will strive to be myself. I will move through the day without hiding behind a façade. My fear and anxiety will not define me. It is a day to be courageous in who we truly are, honoring the fearless nature of his being.

So, wear your sweater. Remember Fred Rogers. But when you put your arms through those sleeves, and just before you button the last button or zip up that zipper, remember in everything you do today, to be like him. On this day, become Fred Rogers. That is the greatest testament to his legacy.

Romance is a necessary, even required part of life-all of life- and its good that we're embarking upon our annual romantic reminder on February 14th.

On my birthday last year a great friend of mine gave me The New York Times Book of Essential Knowledge. I opened the book at random and the first entry I laid my eyes on was the definition of Romance. It begins: "Literary form containing characters that seem removed from the real world by fantasy or improbability."

The New York Times didn't get it entirely wrong, but they were close.

The source of this word is Greek, meaning "appears in imagination." Romance, therefore, originates in a dream. It is the possibility, the "what if", the "maybe this will work" of Love. In short, Romance gives love style. 

I'll give you some examples.

Love is the smile. Romance is laughter. Love is saying "goodbye." Romance says "until we meet again."  Love says "I love you." Romance whispers it in the ear. Love is a hug. Romance makes their ribs squeak. Love is bringing a dozen roses. Romance is the arrangement. Love is an apology. Romance is the amends. Love is sympathy. Romance is empathy. Love is commitment. Romance is passion. Love is Music. Romance is Brahms.

Love is laughing at a joke your friend told. Romance is laughing at it the fifth time they told it. Love is the old friend who knows your every move. Romance is the old friend that never gets tired of the same old moves.

Love is calling your parents. Romance is listening to them share their stories. Love is visiting the sick. Romance is holding their hand. Love encourages them to good health. Romance helps them laugh away the pain. Love is caring. Romance is carefree.  

Love loves you even as you age. Romance knows how great you look with grey hair. Love is wearing your favorite colors. Romance is wearing them every day. Love is champagne. Romance is champagne with a hamburger.  

Love is life. Romance is living.

Happy Valentine's Day.

I save stuff. My office is full of little keepsakes, tchotchkes, trinkets. Birthday, thank-you and Christmas cards are on my walls and stuffed away in drawers.

I am not a collector. I don’t have anything that belongs in a collection or that would qualify, by anybody’s standards, as collectible. All of the things have been given to me.

I have to keep them. To me, there is no other choice. I cannot think how anybody, when given something that has taken that person time, care, and effort could say “thank you” and discard it or put it away, never to be thought of again. It is uncaring, and does not deserve the gesture.

To be honest, I haven’t kept every single gift or card I’ve been given. Some have passed out of my company faster than others. But everything I’ve ever been given I’ve kept for some measure of time, to honor the gift and the person from whom it came. Giving is the most fundamental gesture of love; receiving and absorbing that love is a treasure unto its own.

At times, I have been given awards and other tokens of recognition, too. Those I keep, but not on my walls. They are appreciation for things that I did, not necessarily for the person that I am. I have gotten past being recognized for my efforts or for contributions I’ve made. They don’t really make much difference to me, although it’s nice to be chosen. These awards, too, are expressions of kindness. But I keep close to me the symbols of love given for just being me.

Some of my cards and a few of my gifts have been filed away. I have a couple of boxes that I periodically remove from their shelves to visit my old friends. I remember who gave me the cards and what they looked like. Sometimes I remember where I was. But I can’t always remember the year, and that’s OK. The card or the gift brings the memory back to me, and that’s all that matters, really. As soon as I think of the giver, through their gift they are with me again.

Photos, too, are in front of me. The faces of my family are in my eyes daily. I can see them, at different times in their lives, and remember who they were then. Their hearts, through the reflection in their faces, are ever present.

If you have saved mementos of the past, bring them out. Put them where you can see them. Give them some air, some space to bring the memory back into your spirit. They illustrate parts of your life, and will remind you of the paths you’ve crossed.

They hold such an abundance of love. Take the time to go through every picture, every card, every gift you’ve kept and spread them out. Look at them, each piece, as a representation of a phase in your life that is worthy of memory and has influenced the person you are today.

Every Christmas, or shortly thereafter, I take time to pause and move through the pages of the old calendar, deliberately looking at every week, every day that passed. I take this journey, remembering the days as best I can, reflecting upon the year.

In my calendar, I visited San Francisco twice, and fell in love with the place all over again. I drank Irish coffee at the Buena Vista Cafe on St. Patricks Day. I ate at the Taddich Grill, stood third row at Wavy Gravys 72nd birthday party concert, ran the Bay to Breakers race, took in the view at the Top of the Mark, jumped off a cable car to retrieve a bouquet of flowers, smoked a cigarette at the corner of Haight and Ashbury, and I dont even smoke. The memories made there this year developed a hold on me and I hope it never lets go.

I have had countless cups of coffee with great friends, lunch with many others, a few martinis with a couple more. Movies have been seen, DVDs rented and popcorn with too much butter has been consumed. I have been on a diet about two days out of every week, run dozens of miles and eaten through as many miles of food.

I watched one heartbroken daughter move back home, another exhilarated daughter move out and a son adopt a family. I observed my youngest child move away, back and away again, and my oldest daughter do exactly the same, only in reverse. And along with their travels, I watched each child change jobs and educational paths.

I made sure that my middle daughter, the one that lives closest and works 12-hour shifts at the hospital, had coffee waiting for her at 5:30 in the morning. I emailed each child at least once every week. I hugged each one when they came home and hugged them harder when they left. And I never let them leave my sight without telling each one I love them. At times, through this year, I became a better father.

I checked the hours Ive spent with friends and counted the dates between meetings. The time seems to lengthen from visit to visit. Some friendships seem to fade, some are gone. The weeks hold such heaviness when I feel the loss of friendships gone. But I can run my finger along the pages of the calendar, find the date, and see the look in their eyes all over again. I may have lost contact with some forever, but the reminders of their love in these pages will always keep them in my heart.

The dates also hold the challenges and the struggles of the year. Disappointment, in ourselves and each other, line the pages with sadness and anxiety. The illnesses, the injuries, the breaths held, the sighs released. The rush, the hurry, the panic, the fatigue, the anger, the frustration, the conflict and the chagrin. These also live within every page. These, too, are a part of every year.

But as I review the last weeks of the year, I look at what has passed and I regain a sense of hope. I have read through the dates, and I know Ive made it. I have arrived at the end of the year, and I am still in one -- albeit worn -- spiritual, emotional and physical piece. The days that passed have been lived and I am ready for the next year to present itself, to live again.

So, in this years calendar, in order to live every day to the fullest, choose to fill the dates with love. Decide to see your friends more often and mark them in your calendar. Put hours aside each day for your family. Watch every page more carefully and commit to moving more love into your weeks, filling the lines of your calendar with togetherness. Sustain each week with the hope of a joyful today, a promise of a glorious tomorrow.

May the dates in your calendar this year, every hour of every day, launch you forward into promise and new beginnings. May you reclaim the joy of friendships, the love of family, and the hope within every new day.

Merry Christmas. Happy New Year.

The first tradition is one I started with my youngest daughter years ago. This time of year, we find ourselves at Horton Plaza on a Sunday in December, early in the morning just as the shops are opening. Incredibly, we are often one of the only ones there. We order a bread bowl full of clam chowder from a restaurant in the food court, in my opinion a unique but unrivaled holiday breakfast. It is a wonderful season starter.

After the bread bowls, the stores are just about to open. Credit card in hand, I do the one thing that gets most of my shopping done and is always guaranteed to bring me peace and balance during the cacophony of the Christmas rush.

I let my daughter do all the shopping.

She is tall, pretty and has sharp elbows to use when necessary. She doesnt consult my opinion about anything. She has told me to go over there to stay out of her way when shes frustrated with my presence. Shell charmingly persuade me to throw down the charge card when I know full well that the gift shes buying is way outside the budget. But it gets the job done and I get to experience the fun of Christmas shopping (without the stress) as my daughter hustles through, well, just about every place. Im the financial institution backing the transactions, wandering with her through stores, looking at things I wouldnt buy if you paid me. And I wouldnt have it any other way. I avoid holiday chaos and I get to spend time with my daughter, who is entirely up to the task. Give this kid a bread bowl and a charge card, and my Christmas shopping miseries are over.

Last year, my dear daughter wasnt here for long. So, while missing her and our tradition, I was faced with going solo to the malls, the stores, and the lines of impatient people in order to provide some Christmas offerings to those I love. And, I did just that. I brought home an adequate haul and nobody seemed too disappointed. But, I missed my girl and the fun of Christmas shopping with someone who turns the chore into an experience not to be missed.

So, while braving the crowds, I established a new tradition to share with my fellow shoppers that allowed me to reclaim the sense of Christmas that Id lost through my daughters absence.

I walked down Grand Avenue in Escondido, where the lights are so bright and the stores so warm during Christmas. I went through two malls, watched the people, held doors and let everybody move ahead of me, with a smile on my face and a Merry Christmas to those who caught my eye. I took in the smells of the food and the packages. I walked outside and braced the crisp air as the people streamed past. I enjoyed taking a moment to help improve other peoples shopping experience because it reminded me of why were all here.

My daughter said that shell be here this year. I look forward to our time together, to carry on our tradition. But while I wait for her return, look for me in the mall or in the shopping district. Ill be the one holding the door.

Ed McShane is a therapist who lives and works in Escondido. He visited Escondido High Schools shelter during the fire to talk with evacuees about their experiences.

Sitting on the edge of a cot, waiting for the chance to take a shower with so many others. Some washing themselves off, head to toe, from the sink. Then getting dressed into the same clothes they took off, the only clothes they have left, still smelling of smoke.

There is a look that you see, a stare to a point past where the eyes stop looking and the mind begins to see. And, for brief periods of time, to remember.

These memories come in bursts, short visions of what was. The heart can only take so much pain at one time. From these brief glances of insight, they try to calm themselves with what they know, what is familiar.

But what is familiar is gone.

All that is left is the smoke. The smell is inescapable. And it is absolutely everywhere.

They hope that there is a friend who will ask about how they are doing. And they hope that, when they say they have nowhere to go, they will be offered a place to stay.

They hope work understands that they wont be back for a while and that they need to buy a weeks worth of shirts, pants, underwear, socks, and shoes. Getting to and from work might be tough, too, since the car was in the garage of the house that burned.

And when they think about all that needs to be done, all that needs to happen for some state of normalcy to begin again, the stare comes back to their face, and they try to think about anything else.

Mother Theresa once said that poverty exists because of our refusal to share. The impoverished state that a fire brings is sudden, distinct and permanent. Sharing of ourselves and our resources is the only healing, the sole hope that regenerates the spirit, giving life back to those who have lost so much.

I have seen rooms being given, rent free. I have seen clothes being purchased, meals being made, children being babysat, even diapers being changed by people brought together by this fire, and through the overriding feeling of generosity and love.

When the embers cool and the fire is contained, the losses will remain. As a community we need to sustain the energy of healing and hope. Bring life back into the faces, remove the stares of hopelessness. Continue on the journey of reclamation in the weeks ahead.

This is a community of loving, considerate, responsive people. You have demonstrated your kindness throughout this week, and will for weeks ahead. God bless every one of you that has opened your heart, and shared your blessings to offset and overcome every ounce of loss.

Your love will extinguish this fire.

Ed McShane is a therapist who lives and works in Escondido. He visited Escondido High Schools shelter during the fire to talk with evacuees about their experiences.

The coffee shop opens at 5:30 and I was second in line.

The first customer made the cardinal sin of coffee ordering when youre first in line, first thing in the morning, and half of the city is behind you waiting for their caffeine. He ordered three -- count em, three -- foo-foo, blended, extra-whip, double-pump coffee drinks that take 45 minutes to make.

I started to sing.

I am trying to modify my impatient behavior. I used to sigh, so heavily that the roof would rise. Now I just sing, generally under my breath.

The only song that came into my head was Bob Dylans Paint My Masterpiece performed by the Grateful Dead. Bob Weir and Jerry Garcia sang it. I started singing Weirs part: Oh, the streets of Rome are filled with rubble. Ancient footprints are everywhere. You know, it almost seems like youre seeing double. On a cold, dark night on the Spanish stairs.

The guy in front of me finished giving his order and went to the end of the counter to pick it up. I ordered two coffees and stood by him. I continue singing. Gotta hurry on back to my hotel room, where I got me a date with Botticellis niece.

Then, I hear the next verse in Garcias harmony: She promised she would be there with me. When I paint my masterpiece.

It was the guy with the foo-foo drinks. He picked up the harmony, knew the words and he was singing with me. I smiled at him, he smiled back, and I shut up.

His drinks were taking forever. The girl behind the counter said, Were needing to brew another pot. Itll only be a minute. And, again, instead of sighing, I started singing.

This time, I was tapping my fingers on the counter. Right on cue, Foo-Foo guy picked up the harmony.

At this point, I figured Id just keep going. The coffee wasnt ready, Foo-Foo had this big, goofy smile on his face, that took up three quarters of his head, so I went for the third verse. This time louder, and with more distinct tapping, to keep time. He joined me, harmonizing right on time. We were now being watched by the eight other people in the store as we both hit, SOMEDAY, EVERYTHINGS GONNA BE DIFFERENT, WHEN I PAINT MY MASTERPIECE! We shook each others hand and everybody in the store started applauding.

I got my coffee, saw the light in the eyes of the people in line. They didnt have their coffee yet, and to a person, they had smiles on their faces. When I was about to leave, the girl behind the counter said, Sorry folks, dont know whats wrong with the coffee, but it should be ready in just one minute. And when I get it made, all cups of regular coffee are on the house.

The Foo-Foo guy said, Should we come back and sing another? It seems to do the same thing as the coffee.

Singing in the morning instead of caffeine? This guy might be onto something.

Phrases like alpha male and pecking order are terms that sociologists still use to describe male interaction and you cant escape it. Invariably, put three or more men together, and youll see this group behavior. Give them enough time and theyll probably sniff each others butts and find a tree to pee on.

Individually, we arent much better. Our hobby is eating, our diversion is drinking and our slack-jawed, drooling distraction is TV. We seem to have digressed into managing our stress through the same old, tired but familiar mechanisms that dont work much better today than they did 30 years ago. Emotionally, we men tend to be a little stuck.

So to all of the men out there (and to the woman and children that endure your presence) heres a short list. Put it on your refrigerator or next to the TV. Youll remember it better if its accessible in familiar places.

1) Be the same at home as you are with your friends. You put your best foot forward around people whose company you enjoy. Try doing the same with your family.

2) Change the diapers. I have changed hundreds and my hands are fine. You learn to hold your breath through the tough parts.

3) Cook one meal well. And Im not talking about making a sandwich. Doesnt matter what kind, whether its lasagna, roast beef or tuna fish casserole. Just one meal, and put it together once a week. Minimum.

4) And while youre at it, do the dishes. Make that your household chore. Psychology researchers have said that housework is the number one form of foreplay. Now you have motivation.

5) Read. As in a book. Heres a question: How many books have you read this year? For years the prevailing statistic is that we read, on average, two books a year, and Im pretty sure one of them is a Harry Potter story. Try something new. It doesnt matter what it is, as long as it is a real book and not a long sports section stuck between two pieces of cardboard.

6) Run a mile in 10 minutes. This isnt that hard. I can run three in 30, easily. Im a therapist, I have pink walls in my office, I write for KPBS, and I can outrun you. Dont you feel ashamed?

7) Listen to music that was written in the last five years. The new stuff is exceptional, and even the new stuff by old guys is excellent. James Taylor had the best album he ever composed five years ago. Replace Mud Slide Slim with October Road and you just improved your album collection.

8) Lift 40 pounds with one arm. Youre still a man, remember?

9) Lose weight. And keep the goals easy. Start with five pounds, and see if you can get to 20. But face it -- youre fat and you know it. It doesnt look any better on you than it does on her, dont kid yourself. I know its a pain to get it off, but youll add 10 years to your life. And if you do all these things on this list, people will want to have you around a lot longer.

10) Stop yelling, quit being a petulant jerk when you dont get your way and just calm yourself. I know, I left the hardest one for last. We seem to be guided by our egos in place of our hearts, and it is from our hearts that we are our best. Remember the wonderful phrase from Antoine St. Exupery, a fighter pilot for the French resistance in World War II (he also wrote The Little Prince but you can ignore that:) It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.

Live this list. Youll let those you love see your heart.

Ed McShane is a psychotherapist in San Diego County. He is an author and lecturer, and he writes regularly for KPBS Online.

Going into college isnt easy. Leaving home to go to college is even harder. You dont know anybody, youre hammering at the books, and you are doing the best you can to be liked, balancing your life, on your own terms, by yourself, for the first time.

It screams of insufficiency and a narrow existence. Your only other reference about life is that guy or girl in the next dorm room, who is just as apprehensive about being in college as you are. It is hit and miss, a trial and error existence at its best. One out of four survives this journey all the way to the end. It is not for the faint of heart or weak of spirit. The support that is offered is thin. And the environment, in a word, stinks.

Therefore, I propose a solution. College needs to be a place of better emotional development as well as academic and social unfolding. I am on a mission to enhance and improve the complexion of college dormitories by including one small change. I want this to be a mandatory inclusion for all colleges and universities across the country, and I would appreciate your feedback.

I want every third dorm room, everywhere, to be reserved for somebody over the age of 70.

Award them scholarships. Having lived life this long, theyve earned it. Room, board, and tuition so they have the option of attending classes, if they desire. The total bill for reserving that room will be thousands of dollars LESS than it costs for retirement living, and they would be receiving the same benefits that college students receive, including on-site medical care.

I got this idea watching a video of Leo Buscaglia, one of my heroes, on YouTube this morning. Buscaglia, for those who arent familiar with him, was a magnetic and effusive lecturer and writer about love. In one of his lectures, he quoted a woman named Helen Colston, a touch therapist expert that thought this idea of putting the elderly in college dorms instead of retirement homes was great, and should be mandatory. Smart woman.

Buscaglia, after quoting her, said, Oh, this would be such a benefit to both! The kids would learn about life, the wonderful storiesand they have fabulous stories to tell.

He was right.and that would be just the beginning. The conversations that both can have, learning about one another, understanding aspects of each generation that would otherwise be forgotten or, at least, misunderstood.

To offer appreciation of youth, to revisit the memories and love of what was lost, to embrace of the magic of adolescence immediately in their midstand to share this love with the freshman class. It really doesnt get much better than this.

Think of this for a second. A 70 year old is born in 1937. When they were 18, 19, 20, life was turning the corner into the 60s. Eisenhower preceded Kennedy. Beatnikswho even knows what that is anymorepreceded hippies. They read first editions of Ginsberg, Kerouac, and Burroughs, cut their musical teeth on Little Richard, Buddy Holly and The Killer. Good lord

Experience would be part of the everyday curriculum of life. The exchange of ideas from both courts promises an opening to new literature, music, and particularly history. Living history, right in your midst, opening to these young lives stories of life that would be otherwise forgotten, never to be remembered or retrieved. Similarities between generations would be evident. Understanding would breathe forth acceptance. The gap within the generations would be bridged.

Mother Theresa said that the greatest poverty in the world is loneliness. And this extraordinary resource will slip past, as every generation before, unless it has a place to grow, to share and to be remembered. Without this beginning, the poverty of loneliness continues to grow.

Personally, I think this is the best idea I stole from anybody, and am happy to further it, with your help.

Send this article to the President of your favorite Universityand demand to get a response.

This is the beginning of a great change for further love and acceptance. Thanks for your help, every one of you.

Ed McShane is a psychotherapist in San Diego County. He is an author and lecturer, and he writes regularly for KPBS Online.

Given this fervor for conflict, a reporter once asked him about his managerial style, and if there was any secret to his success. Durocher, who held his press conferences as if he was a King holding court, looked down at this young reporter and said that managing was easy, if you could remember three things: When to pat em on the back, when to kick em in the ass, and when to leave em alone.

At first, when I heard this quote, I didnt really know what it meant, at least in a personal way. I have never had any direct managerial experience past my sons tee ball team, and Durochers philosophy wouldve probably been lost on a bunch of first graders hoping not to get hit by the ball. I hadnt thought there was any circumstance that this philosophy applied until I began to rephrase his statements.

If Leo had said that his three tenets to success were offering encouragement, constructive criticism and space, Id immediately known what he meant, and to whom it applied.

Our family. Our friends. Ourselves.

We can measure countless attempts of this kind of interaction with our siblings, partners, parents and children. Hopefully, if we took an inventory of that count, the great majority of our help given to any of those close to us is encouragement.

In my life, Ive found that criticism, constructive or otherwise, is overused and poorly phrased. Sometimes, the communication sounds insensitive; often, it sounds plain mean.

And to offer personal space can be, and often is, misinterpreted as being distant or unresponsive, even uncaring.

But to offer encouragement, to be positive and responsive to anothers needs, can never be misconstrued.

Encouragement is never unkind or inconsiderate, never misplaced, never mean. It is almost universally accepted when offered, and appreciated when the sentiment is felt.

Encouragement is always helpful, always healing, and always kind. Encouragement to another embodies love.

So if you know anybody with a problem, issue or difficulty, and youre not sure how to respond or react to their challenges, of the three techniques in Leo Durochers style of interpersonal management, always choose the first. To be safe and supportive, appropriate and kind, pat em on the back, or offer encouragement whenever possible. You will never run the risk of injury whenever kindness is put forth.

Wherever he is, Im sure Leo would agree.

Ed McShane is a psychotherapist in San Diego County. He is an author and lecturer, and he writes regularly for KPBS Online.