I’d say that I have a healthy obsession with Charlie Brown cartoons.
Since the start of September, I have made sure to satisfy my Charlie Brown fix every weekend by watching “It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown.”
Not only does the cartoon warm my heart and make me reminisce about childhood memories, but I have also recently discovered that I identify with Charlie Brown’s outlook on life.
The second time I watched “It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown” this fall, suffice to say that the film absolutely spoke to me on an introspective and emotional level.
Everyone knows the infamous scene in the film that depicts Charlie Brown, dressed in a hole-marked bedsheet (that almost looked like a ghost), receiving rocks during trick-or-treating instead of the sought-after candy that his friends receive.
After Charlie Brown’s last disappointing “I got a rock” statement, the fictitious character’s burden was placed on me, the viewer, and it was a slightly jarring experience.
I never thought in my adult life that I would abruptly pause a child’s cartoon film and sit dumbfounded in an “Oh man, Charlie Brown. We’re the same, you and me,” contemplation.
After wallowing in my self-pity for a while, I asked myself the question which would much later stem into an existential epiphany, “What do I do when life gives me a rock?”
I usually go about my days hanging my head low with a frown, accompanied by a dark cloud of pessimism and Charlie Brown’s “Everything I touch gets ruined” mentality. Yet, after that self-imposed question, I tried to become a tad more optimistic in my pessimism.
For example, I lost my Air pod a couple of days after my Charlie Brown moment. Not both Air pods, just one.
I was dumping my three-day-old food into the trash can right outside of the cafeteria merely seconds before exchanging it for another one (the most disgusting-looking action that a human being can be caught doing) when this outstandingly attractive man came up to me.
I cannot recall anything after that moment.
As I walked out of the cafeteria, I felt the brisk sweep of air against my right ear and placed my hand on top of the expected Air pod to find nothing.
A significant inconvenience has begun, and my rock has been thrown into my treat-or-treat bag.
I desperately began searching for my right Air pod, but my last memory of looking into chestnut-colored eyes did not aid in the reconnaissance.
As the “I won’t be able to listen to music constantly” or “How will I work out without my Air pods” panic started to overcome my mental state, I had an epiphany.
Briskly walking to my junior seminar class with a hint of in my footsteps, I realized the reason for the busy day inconvenience: I was being taught a valuable lesson on materialism.
During the Air pod relocation rush, I decided it would simply be easier to run to Target and buy a new pair and act as if the incident never happened. Apparently, a lackadaisical throwing away of $130 would be the most inconvenient and probable option.
Earlier this week, after the Charlie Brown-Air pod incident, I had attended a Maverick City Music concert. Although the entire event was a rejuvenating and powerful experience, a moment that stuck out to me was the second I raised my hand when the concert’s pastor had asked the audience if anyone was called to sponsor a child financially.
I am one of the most materialistic people I know. I value my money; therefore, I tend to be stingy with any income I receive.
Now, you’re probably wondering why I jumped from Charlie Brown to an M.I.A. Air pod, all the way to a little girl from Ethiopia, and yes, there are no concrete similarities.
I would not have sponsored that child if I did not lose my right Air pod. If I did not have the thought, “I’ll just buy a new pair, and life will go back to normal,” it would not have led me to realize that society takes the daily privileges it has for granted.
Although reinforced constantly, it is vital to understand that the rocks that are thrown in your trick-or-treat bags could amount to so much more than an inconvenience or continuous “bad luck.” I, for one, am strong to call my rocks “opportunities.”
Rocks are opportunities to learn and ways to see aspects of life outside the box and enforce lessons.
Charlie Brown may have been the staple melancholy child of our youth, but we cannot cease to expand on the value embedded in the simplicity.
