It was a massive collection of Peanuts comic books.
He had been collecting them since he was 18…. maybe 19.
And as far as I can remember I wasn’t allowed to touch his music system or his comic books without taking his permission. That’s all my dad wanted.
I think at some point I brought this tyrannical rule to his attention, so he eased up. Said I could read any of the comics whenever I wanted.
So I took them all, read some and distributed most to some kids who didn’t even know how to spell Schulz.
They never got returned.
I was 12.
My dad didn’t shout at me.
I realized how much I loved this strip only after I had squandered away the one heirloom I would have really cherished. And so, ever since I grew up and started making money, I have been buying Peanuts comic books for my dad (and me). I think I almost have them all.
It might be genetic, this love for Peanuts. Because I am as possessive about my comics as my dad once was.
Happiness is a dancing dog.