Good Ol' Charlie Brown.
I realized something while watching the Charles Schulz episode of American Masters tonight. I can't instantly recall the names of any of the kids I hung out with while in elementary or middle school, or any of the teachers I had. I can't tell you precisely where my family went on vacation (outside of one trip to Disney World,) or what any of my birthday parties were like. I don't remember any of the addresses my family resided at until my 9th grade year.
But I remember picking up a beaten first-print copy of You Need Help, Charlie Brown at a used bookstore in Jackson, Mississippi and reading it while my parents were in a grocery store. I recall knocking sand out of Happiness Is A Warm Puppy after a day at the beach somewhere. I remember using my allowance to buy I'm Not Your Sweet Babboo! (a big seven-by-ten inch collection that I kept on a shelf for years) at a Waldenbooks and sitting under a tree with it, reading all of its nearly 200 pages in one sitting. I can rattle off the names of the strip's cast without blinking, remember the contents of the individual volumes of the Charlie Brown 'Cyclopedia (#7 had space travel - that was my favorite,) and I know that Frieda is a red-headed girl, but not the red-headed girl, so stop making that mistake already.
Charlie Brown was probably my best friend when I was growing up and despite my years of being a devoted fan, I never realized it until tonight.
Thanks, Sparky.
