This happened at Christmas time, 1966. I was an 11-year-old boy who read comic strips in the paper. Well, actually, I read only one, but that one was and is by far my all-time favorite. I’m talking about Charles Schulz’s Peanuts. The first Peanuts television special, A Charlie Brown Christmas, had been on TV the previous Christmas and that made me even more of a fan of the strip. I couldn’t get enough of Charlie Brown and company.
In a Sears Christmas catalog, I found a book I thought I might like to have as a Christmas gift. It was called The Gospel According to Peanuts, written by Robert L. Short. There was a description of the book in that Sears catalog stating that the author interpreted the Peanuts characters’ prophetic words from a Christian perspective and highlighted his remarks with selected cartoons.
OK. So there would be cartoons in the book. I didn’t give a damn about a Christian perspective — that would just be something I’d put up with while reading the cartoons. I added The Gospel According to Peanuts to my Christmas wish list.
Sure enough, come Christmas 1966, I got the book. My grandparents got it for me and there were a fair amount of Peanuts cartoons in the book. I read and enjoyed them all quickly. My grandfather, a few days after Christmas, asked me if I was reading the Christian perspectives supplied by Robert L. Short. I told him I was, but I was lying.
A few months after that Christmas in 1966, my grandparents were visiting my parents and my grandfather wanted to know if he could borrow my Peanuts book. By that time I had read all the cartoons in it at least twice, so I gladly loaned it to him.
A week or so later, while visiting our grandparents’ farm, my grandfather returned my Peanuts book. I was shocked when I looked at the cover of it. With a blue, ballpoint pen, my grandfather had written all over the face of it, giving his thoughts on the book. I was horrified he had defaced it.
I remember getting home and finding an eraser and trying to remove my grandfather’s handwriting from the face of my book. It was useless. In my mind, my Peanuts book had been destroyed by my grandfather.
Move ahead to May 1, 1967. My twin brother and I were celebrating our 12th birthday. I can’t remember the reason, but my mother wasn’t going to put candles on our birthday cake. I was insisting on it. When my grandfather backed me up, my mother quickly found some candles.
As my twin brother and I were blowing out the candles on the cake, my grandfather, seated on the couch in the living room, started grasping for air. He was having a massive heart attack. My twin brother and I watched as my parents and grandmother tried to revive him. This went on for several minutes, but it was pointless. My grandfather was dead, and from that point on, I felt like nothing in my life would ever feel all right again.
In the months following his death, I would go back to that book, The Gospel According to Peanuts, and read the words that my grandfather had written on the face of it. Some of the words I couldn’t make out because of the erasing I’d done, but most I could still read. Unlike me, he had taken the time to read the entire book and not just the cartoons. I now felt bad that I had tried to erase his words from the book, but I felt some comfort in the fact that I never said a word to him about it.
Time marches on. I grew up, moved away from home, went to college, got married, had kids — lead a decent adult life. It’s funny how some things you just don’t forget. In various moves during my life, that Peanuts book got lost, but I never forgot the story behind it, never forgot my grandfather writing on it and how he died some months later while my twin brother and I were blowing out candles on our birthday cake. My kids know this story all too well.
On May 1, 2014 — 48 years since my grandfather died — I turned 60 years old. I no longer blow out candles on birthday cakes, but I still enjoy opening gifts. As they were winding down, my son handed me one last gift from him and his girlfriend.
As I opened it, my eyes swelled up with tears. It was that book — The Gospel According to Peanuts by Robert L. Short. My son had found a used copy of it on Amazon.
I’m in the middle of reading the book now, taking my time and reading it slowly. I’m not just reading the cartoons this time but all the words that my grandfather had read more than 48 years ago.
Sometimes as I’m reading, I feel like my grandfather is right there beside me reading with me. I feel like everything in my life is all right again.
CONTACT LARRY GROSS: [email protected]
