Lessons Charles Schultz Taught Me (Age 5)

At age 5 I entered first grade,
     already a reader.
         Charles Schultz taught me.

I spent hours upon hours upon hours
     Reading along to books.
          The voices of my friends were
          etched into the grooves of each 45.
     The needle scratched to life the voice of
         Charlie Brown instructing:

"Hi. I'm Charlie Brown. You can read along in your book as you listen to the story. You'll know it's time to turn the page when you hear the chimes ring like this: (sound of chimes ringing). And now we present Snoopy Come Home."
     
I connected most with Linus and his security blanket.
    I had a stuffed dog named Frederick.
    He went everywhere with me--
        in my backpack to school,
        sitting aside me in the grocery cart at the store,
        hidden in my shirt at church.
Concerned about my attachment,
    my father held Frederick over a garbage can.
    And despite my pleas and screams he declared,
    "Sometimes we have to say goodbye to our friends."

Whenever the cruelty was too much, the Peanuts gang saved me.

I hated Lucy.
   She lured Charlie Brown with the promise of kindness.
   And every time he saw the good in her,
       Every time he decided to trust her,
       Every time he gave her a second, third, fourth, tenth chance,
             She ripped the football away. 
Just once I wanted Charlie Brown to say:
"Sometimes we have to say goodbye to our friends."

Over time, I learned to be a Snoopy--
     to be my own Flying Ace,
     and use my imagination to take me to war zones,
        less dangerous than the one at home. 
I sat upon my bed,
     and imagined dodging bullets from the enemy,
     eventually becoming the hero
        celebrated back home.
My imagination was boundless.
It needed to be.

Charles Schultz taught me to read,
   but he also taught me lessons about life:
        Kindness despite cruelty,
        Loyalty despite betrayal,
        Persistence despite failure,
            And never, never, never giving up.

Each Sunday morning,
    when I get that thick stack of newsprint,
    I turn to the comics section,
    and get a visit from an old friend.

My father was wrong.
We don't have to say goodbye to old friends.