Snoopy, Sparky, Vince & Me

Who doesn’t love the Peanuts gang? Sure, not everyone is a dyed-in-the-wool fan, but I’d be shocked if I met someone who had a strong dislike for Snoopy and Co.

I’m firmly in the fan category. Actually, I’d say I’m more than that. Peanuts has touched my life in a lot of ways; I’d be remiss if I didn’t pay homage to it at some point in my writing journey.  

I didn’t become a Peanuts fan until I was a teenager, which may make me a bit unusual in the Peanuts fandom.  I’d seen A Charlie Brown Christmas and read a few of the strips, of course. I mean, they’re practically an American institution. I was even Frieda in a play as a kid (thanks to the naturally curly hair). But I don’t remember being particularly excited or interested by Peanuts overall. Snoopy was cute, but I could take or leave him for most of my childhood.  

Then, a new antique store opened nearby. I was an avid antiquer as a teen, so that was a big event. (I still am, there’s just a lot less shops nowadays, unfortunately.). One of the booths at the shop specialized in books, and one of those books was The Peanuts Treasury.

We went to some other shops that day, and I read the book as my Dad drove us from place to place. I became a fan instantly. The loose, easy-going lines, the quirky characters, the hilarious text. Basically, the whole package appealed to me. Or, as the hipsters might put it, I dug the vibe.

As I do with anything I develop an interest in, I became a dedicated connoisseur of Peanuts. I see it the way a baseball fan sees the Yankees or an archaeologist sees ancient Egypt. If there were such a thing as Peanuts scholars, I’d be studying to join their ranks.  

Charles “Sparky” Schulz drew the strip for fifty years. He announced his retirement the day before he died. If you’ve ever seen one of his interviews, you know he’s a mild-mannered man with a Minnesota accent. If you’ve read the comics, you know he’s also some special sort of genius. If just anyone had tried to draw a daily strip that focused only on children, they wouldn’t have hit on what Sparky found. Kids love peanuts. Adults love Peanuts. We shouldn’t be wasting our time on Ted Talks when there’s more to be gained from any one of Linus’s speech bubbles.

Unlike other geniuses, though, the secret of Sparky Schulz is as simple as his art style. He knew that the wholesome and the astute could work together. His characters could be precious or pithy. The child-like side of Peanuts isn’t juvenile, and the mature side isn’t adult in the modern sense of that word.

From Sparky, I learned to embrace the imperfect, stylized side of my art. Pen and ink has become one of my favorite mediums. In creating my own Peanuts strips, I discovered I could meld my drawing and writing skills.

Peanuts also got me into jazz. We have a music book called Linus and Lucy and the Pink Panther that I loved hearing my mom play from as a kid. Now, those are the only two songs I have solidly memorized on the piano.

Learning "Linus and Lucy" led to an admiration for the rest of the soundtracks, then for the rest of composer Vince Guaraldi’s work. From there, through the songs Pandora suggested on my Guaraldi station, I fell in love with jazz. I was probably the only kid in my college music course to write about Bossa Nova.

Writing a research paper about Vince for that same class taught me about more than a musician I admired. It got me back in touch with the things that used to bring me so much joy. I realized that I’d drifted off in my late teen years. If you’re ever feeling down or dissatisfied, try revisiting something you used to love. Growing up doesn’t mean growing out of.

Maybe most people don’t point to Snoopy and jazz as defining personality traits, but I do. The world of Peanuts, from the strips to the movies to the music to the endless merchandise, makes me happy. When I’m paging through my Peanuts library, whether it’s a collection of comics or a behind the scenes look at the TV specials, I feel a little more at peace with the world. I realize that wanting to use your creativity to bring joy isn’t silly or shallow at all.

It’s safe and peaceful in the little black and white squares of a Peanuts comic. There’s laughter and art for everyone without snobbery or competition. No one is trying to fundamentally change the world. There’s no philosophy or politics.

Yet, I think there is more world-changing power in Peanuts than a whole lot of the things we get hung up on. It recognizes that life can be as simple as a single pen line or as complicated as a jazz improvisation.

Peanuts reminds me that life is a glorious mix of success, failure, learning, and laughing. It’s something to celebrate in a dance or escape by becoming a Flying Ace. It reminds me to never give up on my dreams, but to know when to stop trying to kick the football.

But, most of all, it reminds me that goodness, real, tenacious goodness, lasts.

No matter what wild things the world thinks it wants, there will always be room for people like Snoopy, Sparky, Vince, and me.