Growing up in a Peanuts-loving household, I have been a lifelong fan of Charlie Brown, Snoopy, and the rest of the gang. My Baby Boomer siblings played a big role in my Generation X fandom. By the time I was born in 1972, they had already built up a vast Peanuts collection of figurines, stuffed toys. puzzles, books, and records. They shared their treasury with me, happy dancing to keep their favorite childhood characters alive. For a good laugh, they would play the “Snoopy’s Christmas” record to get me to imitate the Red Baron’s accent saying, “Merry Christmas, my friend.” When my sisters would read Happiness is a Warm Puppy to me, I begged them for one more time. The best was when, after another one-more-time, they acted out the pages, treating me to “a bread and butter sandwich folded over,” “roller skates on a smooth sidewalk,” or “a pile of leaves.” Happiness is sandwich-making, roller-skating, leaf-raking big sisters.
My parents, born during the early years of the Depression, got hooked as adults on the cheap entertainment of the Peanuts comic strip that debuted in 1950. My father, a hobbyist artist who was an expert at drawing, painting, and woodworking, greatly admired the work of Charles M. Schulz. He celebrated the cartoonist, making Peanuts-themed crafts for friends and family. Our neighborhood yards, porches, and houses were adorned with my father’s lawn ornaments, wall hangings, and welcome signs.
My mother, who adored the decor of my father’s whimsical crafts, was always a kid at heart. She was my greatest influence for reading the funny pages and watching cartoons. Every year, she made certain that we watched: It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown; A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving; and A Charlie Brown Christmas. She treated the animated Peanuts gang like those folks we only got to visit on special occasions.
Like millions of fans, my family revered the tradition of viewing the trifecta of Peanuts holiday specials born from the talents of writer Charles M. Schulz, producer Lee Mendelson, and director Bill Melendez. This trinity of award-winning creatives left a legacy of animated classics that have continued to touch multigenerations for the past six decades.
On October 27th, 2026, It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown turned sixty, and Charlie Brown’s rocks sparkled for a diamond anniversary. This remains my favorite Peanuts holiday special, but ten years ago, I wavered in my faith and doubted my loyalty to it. Before revealing that rocky struggle, I invite you to journey back to an era when there were no pause buttons, no videos to rewind, no streaming services, back when I had to patiently wait for The Great Pumpkin to air.
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It’s 1977, and I am marching with my mother and kindergarten classmates in the Monaca Halloween parade. After the final firetruck floods Main Street with Tootsie Rolls, Gobstoppers, and Bazooka Bubblegum, we line up at the fire department for the Monaca costume contest. I am awarded second place and a rare bicentennial silver dollar for my hand-sewn fuzzy black and pink cat costume.
My excitement gets snatched when first place goes to Duane, the cowboy from Rochester. The cowboy who rode his hobby horse into our town. The cowboy who came across the Monaca-Rochester Bridge and stole first place. Even though his rusty-colored hat and vest bring out his adorable freckles, he should hand over his crisp two-dollar bill to me. Like Sally in the pumpkin patch, I feel robbed, but before I can make a case for restitution to the hometown judges, my mother reminds me that Charlie Brown would air in twenty minutes.
We are six blocks away from our three-channel television set and have no time for a showdown. I make a quick complaint to my classmate Davy, who is my Sweet Babboo and dressed as the sheriff, to turn in his cousin Duane for violating local contest rules.
“Giddy up!” my mother says. She and I gallop and giggle the whole way home until we get to our porch steps. Mrs. Douglas, taking her evening stroll, tries to stop us. Mrs. Douglas, our garrulous neighbor who doesn’t own a TV, will keep chit-chatting about Jimmy Carter, the Yankees, and the home run streak of Reggie Jackson (aka Mr. October). My mother, friendly to the entire neighborhood, has to snub Mrs. Douglas this evening. She pulls me by the tail up to the porch, digs into my candy bucket, and tosses Mrs. Douglas a full-size Hershey’s Bar.
“Hey, that’s my favorite,” I say.
“Scat. It has almonds,” she says as she pushes us inside.
I run past the kitchen where my father is making us popcorn in the stainless steel popper. I shed my second-place costume for footie pajamas and grab my Snoopy and Woodstock stuffed animals. I slide my beanbag in front of our color television set and empty my bag of parade goodies on a metal TV tray.
My sister, the one who still lives here, just ended her shift at McDonald’s. She makes it home in time to start the show with us. Rushing in, she sits next to me on the living room floor. She gives me a box of McDonaldland Cookies. Score! I got two Grimaces!
My father hands my sister and me recycled Parkay containers full of popcorn with extra flavor that says butter. My mother comes in and switches on the lamp that shows off the jack-o-lantern suncatcher my father taught me to paint. Its colors burst despite the plastic covering the lampshade.
My mother helps herself to my chocolate pile and plucks a Reese’s Cup, her favorite, and a Three Musketeers for my father. My sister snags a package of M&M’s and mixes it with her popcorn. We are all set for the show until the color goes out during an Almond Joy-Mounds commercial.
I scream, “Black and white.”
The candybar lady sings, “Sometimes you feel like a nut.”
“Black and white!”
“Sometimes you don’t.”
My mother leaps to the rescue and gives the top of the TV three whacks. She has the magic touch to bring back the brown shades of “Almond Joy’s got nuts. Mounds don’t.”
Phew! Just in time for the CBS bumper that means Charlie Brown is coming on. You know the one, the rainbow-colored animation of the word “SPECIAL” spiraling towards us to the rapid beats of bongos and blares of horns.
It’s our annual broadcast invitation to:
A
CBS
SPECIAL
PRESENTATION
It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown
Brought to you by the people in your town
who bottle Coca-Cola and the folks who bake Dolly Madison cakes.
We stick to our seats like Bit-O-Honey does to our teeth and watch Snoopy and these beloved balloon-headed kids celebrate and falter through Halloween.
My mother would never let me carve a pumpkin or cut up one of her sheets. Charlie Brown’s ghost looks more like a spotted dalmatian. He must keep getting rocks for having the worst costume. Good thing my cat costume is a prize winner. That cowboy, Duncan, deserves rocks for cheating the system.
I couldn’t believe Violet drew on the back of Charlie Brown’s head, but, maybe next year, he should trick-or-treat as a jack-o-lantern. I wonder if the marker is permanent.
The funniest part is when Lucy’s big mouth bobs for apples, and she gets the one attached to Snoopy’s big grin and dog lips. Blah!
Although there’s a lot to laugh about, I feel bad for Linus. He waits every year, but the only thing to rise from the pumpkin patch is Snoopy dressed up as a World War I Flying Ace. Now that costume deserves a two-dollar bill.
Even though I’m disappointed, like Linus, I’ll be back next year with renewed hope for a different ending where we don’t have to ask, “Oh, Great Pumpkin, where are you?”
TO BE CONTINUED
