Charlie Brown Must Die! or Why You Don't WANT to Go Home Again (part 1)

If you grew up in the 50's or 60's you most likely read the Peanuts Comic Strip - those little urchins of Charles M. Schulz. There were characters like Lucy who never received the medication her histrionic borderline personality desperately required. There was Linus who thought way too much for a little kid and carried a blanket around because no one else would play with him except on philosophy night. There was Schroeder who could play the piano with incredible skill - mostly classical and jazz, but didn't know a single song by the Doors or the Beatles. There was a dog named Snoopy who seemed to never chase cars like other dogs and incredibly never went to the bathroom. (Rumor has it that Charles Schulz once told someone that 'You'll see the Russians land on the moon before you see Snoopy wiz on a fire hydrant!') Then there was Charlie Brown, the little kid with the round head and no hair that I am sorry, looked worse than some kids after chemo! I guess if Charlie Brown were my patient I'd diagnose him schizo-affective.

Charlie Brown never really related well to any of his peers. He was never called just 'Charlie', by anyone - always Charlie Brown. Like German Measles he was announced with as much specific warning as possible. Charlie Brown like Linus also thought way too much. The difference was that he could not or did not articulate his thoughts very well. Adding to this was the fact that even his dog seemed to have more fun than he did. I suppose the worst of it however, was that he had a crush on Peppermint Patti -that little tomboy you just knew would someday have gender identity problems and go into women's tennis and get a promotional sponsorship from Doc Martin.

I think the really sad thing with Peppermint Patti was that Charlie Brown was even less able to articulate his feelings than his thoughts. Added to this was the apparent impossibility of any kind of relationship between him and Patti. Even if she didn't grow up to have an excess of testosterone or hate things with penises, she was still, way out of Charlie Brown’s league. She was active and connected to the world in a way that was age appropriate and in every way he was not. If someone were making a movie about her life, Patti would be the star and the director. In a movie of his own life however, Charlie Brown on the other hand would most likely just be an extra.

Incredibly, in the midst of all his emotional angst and anguish we were expected to find humor. What bothered me was not that Charlie Brown was so socially awkward or that he was generally inept in virtually every undertaking. What bothered me was that we were asked, actually expected to accept Charlie Brown's invariable failures as the "cute." As a child I loved Charlie Brown, but as I got older the tragedy of this short, bald, socially challenged child became apparent. Perhaps my life started to look too much like Charlie Brown's or maybe my voice had finally gotten lower and girls stopped being creepy.

Whatever the reason I awoke one day and in a moment of absolute clarity I realized that Charlie Brown must die! Like some enormous, protruding fetid eruption on the forehead of my youth, the naïve, ineffective and puerile philosophy of Charlie Brown had to be wiped clean from my budding adolescence by the Stridex Pad of reality. I began to realize that dogs should not have more fun than people. That Christmas trees that look like nose hair pulled from a barren mountain side are not acceptable. And lastly, that good psychological advice would certainly cost more than 5 cents. Of course it may still come from a histrionic borderline, but at least it's tax deductible.