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I can't listen to the music of A Charlie Brown Christmas
without getting a little bit misty. There are a lot of reasons, I
suppose: our increasingly cynical and made-to-market age, where
product tie-ins are much more obvious and far less benign that Charles
Schulz and his Peanuts gang; the fact that hearing it means an
onslaught of endless holiday specials, few of which have a fraction of
the charm; or maybe my own longing for my long ago childhood, when
responsibilities were still a long way away and life was about
possibilities and hope. But I wonder if my reaction would be nearly
as strong if the music were less lovingly crafted. At the ripe old
age of 11 I neither knew nor cared for jazz combos. And I certainly
couldn't relate to Christmas music, being of another tribe entirely.
But Vince Guaraldi struck a chord in my young and immature soul, one
that still resonates with me today. Even now, I hear
Linus
and Lucy and I think back to the little boy who loved reading
about those other little boys and girls. Nice to know he's still
inside me somewhere.
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