Why's everybody always pickin' on me?

The other day, while driving to work, I happened to pass by an eating establishment called Charlie Brown's.


Charlie Brown's is a chain much like Outback Steakhouse, Friday's and Red Robin. When this particular one opened up YEARS AGO, my family went out to see what all the excitement was about. I don't remember too much about the experience aside from the fact that we hated it enough to never give it a second thought.

The memory of this was crossing my mind as I stared at the sign while waiting at the traffic light. While reminiscing, I noticed the text below the name: Est. 1966. Then I wondered (and don't ask me to explain this) if there was ever some poor bloke with the last name of Brown who had the unfortunately luck to be given the first name Charlie and if he cursed the names of Schultz and the Coasters every time he opened the paper or turned on the radio.

Then it hit me. I HAD known a kid named Charlie Brown at Park Ave Elementary. He HAD been teased (mostly to the tune of the song) right through to Middle School. And he was the first boy I ever kissed.


My first kiss was from a kid named Charlie Brown.