New Archive:

February 2000 Issue, Volume 4

Peanuts, a Love Story

By Michael Kress

Of course I identified with Charlie Brown. Show me a postwar suburban kid who didn't, and I will show you a liar. But there was and always will be a soft spot in my heart for Linus, Charlie Brown's wise-beyond-his years friend with his security blanket always in tow. Unabashed about his insecurities and deeply spiritual, it was in Linus that I saw myself reflected most closely. Of course, though, there still was plenty of Charlie Brown in me, too. I loved "Peanuts" as a kid, and I love it as an adult. I will never tire of watching Charlie Brown struggling with his renegade folding table on Thanksgiving, Linus waiting in the great pumpkin patch on Halloween, and Snoopy acting, always, more like the cool kids at school than my own never-obedient pooch. Charles Schulz gave voice to the great insecurities and traumas of suburban youth. His characters made me laugh--and made me realize that I was hardly unusual, even if it seemed like I was the only kid who faced the alienation, rejection, and constant fears of Charlie Brown and friends.

I, like Linus, loved my security blanket, although mine, yellow and increasingly tatttered as the years passed, only came out at night. It calmed the anxieties within and aided me in my constant struggle for a good night's sleep. I envied Linus' ability to tote his blanket wherever he went, yet knew even at that young age that his was a world of exaggeration, while mine was one of realities. Linus can carry his blanket all the time with impunity, mine was a thing of secret and some embarrassment. One of the first times I slept at a friend's house, I was ashamed to bring my blanket and worried about how I would sleep without it. The blanket, though, came with me after my mother discussed the matter with my friend's mother and discovered that he, too, slept with a security blanket, blue to my yellow, but serving the same purpose.Linus also displayed a deep spirituality that I realize only now that I felt intuitively but didn't understand as a child. A Jew with few non-Jewish friends, I never fully understood the Peanuts Christmas special, but was mesmerized year after year by Linus' recitation of Luke 2:8-14. The words were exotic and foreign to my ears--"And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid," etc.--but his sincerity and sentiment sent shivers down my spine.

Only in adulthood did I come to appreciate the show's comment on the commercialism of the holiday and Linus' grasp of the meaning of Christmas, a depth of understanding so rare in children as well as adults. As a child, I began to discover Judaism and disdain the insincerity of so many who practice Jewish rituals. I longed to be able to stand up in a conversation-filled synagogue and quote the Torah to quiet the crowd, just like Linus quoted the gospel. I, of course, never had the nerve to do it. Could it be because my security blanket was tucked away at home?

Charlie Brown was another constant presence in my younger days. His awkwardness and insecurity spoke to me, but it was his athletic ineptitude that really made me cheer him on. While I rooted for him to finally outsmart Lucy and kick that football or to finally pitch nine innings without losing his shirt or the game, I knew it was not to be. And that was just fine. I spent much of my childhood on the sidelines of schoolyard ball games, sometimes by choice, occasionally by compulsion. Not Charlie Brown, inept and abused, he kept at it with a drive and good nature I could only dream about. Whereas I could be driven to tears by an infield pop-up on a rare turn at the plate, Charlie Brown got hammered inning after inning, and went back for more.

In the past year, I have had cause to resurrect my childhood passion for the Peanuts gang. It started with a random channel surfing adventure on a quite weekday afternoon. Having recently left a full-time job to attend graduate school, I reveled in my relative freedom by allowing myself the luxury of a half-hour of mid-afternoon television. And there, on cable, was "It's Flashbeagle, Charlie Brown," an obscure Peanuts special satirizing "Saturday Night Fever" and "Flashdance," with Snoopy as the lazy dog by day and the hipster club-hopping dance fiend by night.

Months later, I attended a friend's Friday-night Shabbat dinner. Somehow, the conversation rolled around to the Peanuts gang, and Stephanie, a community member I'd met but didn't really know commented on the fact that there seemed to be a Peanuts special for everything. She mentioned "It's Arbor Day, Charlie Brown," I mentioned "It's Flashbeagle, Charlie Brown," and we spent much of the rest of the meal comparing notes on the Peanuts shows we'd seen and singing the tunes from those shows.

Improbable as it may sound, a romance was born. Our first date, a couple weeks later, consisted of renting several Peanuts videos. Still together, we were saddened by Schulz's illness, his retirement of the strip, and certainly now by his death. I wish he knew that his gang of loveable losers provided the pretext for this Linus-wannabe to ask out his (figurative) little redhead girl. And for once, I was not the blockhead running in vain to kick the football. Good grief, Charles Schulz, how can I thank you?

Michael Kress is a Cambridge, MA-based freelance writer who covers religion and spirituality.