Life with Charlie Brown
A day in the life of your friendly neighborhood pop culture historian!
I’ve been asked if I ever get tired of hearing about Charlie Brown. The truth is that there used to be days when I did.
It wasn’t because of people hounding me about “when will you be done writing.” That was actually pretty helpful because I can be a chief procrastinator if left to my own devices. It wasn’t because of my mother had taken to giving me nothing but Snoopy themed gifts for birthdays and Christmas throughout the years I was researching and writing my book. Those were sweet, even if my wife was becoming very adamant that there was no more room for Charlie Brown ornaments on our Christmas tree. It wasn’t even because Charlie Brown still showed up on television year after year marking each passing holiday, a ruthless reminder of just how long my research was taking. I still watched them each time like it was the first time all over again.
No, the times that I really got tired of hearing about Charlie Brown were those weeks when I was trying to figure out how to piece together another hole in whatever chapter I was writing at that point. Those days when, before I could even fully get my eyes open, I heard it ring through my head, the fresh reminder of my unanswered questions and unsolved writing puzzles: “Charlie Brown…”.
He was always just there, first thing, every morning. As I tried to make the coffee. As I tried to brush my teeth. As I tried to wash my hair. The same thought everyday. “What about Charlie Brown…”. What did he mean for the Vietnam generation? How was he connected to the boys Charles Schulz knew growing up in St. Paul? Why didn’t he ever, even just once, get to kick that stinking football? ARRGHH!!!!
Charlie Brown. I couldn’t get him out of my head. I wondered more than once whether I had a research topic for a book or a clinically diagnosable psychosis.
On those days, I felt a bit like Shermy in the comic strip above. “Good ol’ Charlie Brown… how I hate him!” On those days, I wondered if maybe I should just give it up, throw in the towel, admit defeat.
The problem is that wouldn’t have been very “Charlie Brown” of me. Charlie Brown never gives up. He always goes back to pitchers mound, even after losing the previous 999 outings. He always flies another kite, even though the Kite-Eating Tree is going to chew it up once again.
He always tries to kick the football again.
So, the next day, I would try again. Another day, more Charlie Brown.
Eventually, I had just about written all I needed to say for my book. Just like that, it was done. But Charlie Brown, of course, didn’t leave me alone. He’s part of my life now.
I don’t begrudge his presence anymore, though. Now I hear about him when folks of all ages want to talk about the history of Peanuts at book talks or interviews or podcast episodes. I hear about him when people share their own personal memories and experiences with Charlie Brown from their lives.
In all my fretting over Charlie Brown and what he meant and how to write a history book about him, I never really stopped to think that I wasn’t the only one living with him in my life. As I have found over and over since publishing Charlie Brown’s America, he lives with a lot of us. And the stories readers and listeners tell me about their life with Charlie Brown is more beautiful than I could have imagined. Those stories are more than worth the headaches and restless nights.
So, now I live with Charlie Brown and probably will for the remainder of my career. I’m okay with that now. I’ve even found him a roommate. The roommate is quite a bit grimmer, even more of a loner than Charlie Brown, and only likes to operate at night and only when wearing a grandiose costume.
Move over, Charlie Brown and make room for the Batcave!
To be fair, it’s not the first time I’ve been accused of having bats in the belfry…