April 2025

You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown…

Last month, I had the distinct pleasure of taking my oldest, Benny Boy, to Art Night at his elementary school—something he was absolutely over the moon about. I won’t lie, I was really just there to spend time with him. Art and I? We’re like oil and water. I don’t get it, and I’m certainly not talented in any artistic sense. But I do respect it—the effort, the vulnerability, the ability to move people through creative expression. That part’s not lost on me. Still, I know I’m in the minority here. All that to say: I was probably the least qualified person in the building to be at Art Night.

My Charlie Brown Art

But maybe that’s the essence of parenthood—doing things you have no idea how to do, but diving in headfirst because you love your kid.

The project that night was Andy Warhol–inspired (even I know who that is). We had to choose a pop culture character as our subject. Benny picked Mickey Mouse. As we were flipping through the options, I noticed Charlie Brown. We didn’t watch a ton of Charlie Brown growing up, aside from the holiday specials, but I always liked it. What made it meaningful to me was a phrase my mom used to say often: “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown.”

I never really knew where it came from. Turns out, there’s actually a musical titled You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown. Out of curiosity, I looked it up, and one of the top search results was: “What does it mean when someone says, ‘You’re a good man, Charlie Brown?’”

The answer: “The phrase can be interpreted as a recognition of someone’s positive qualities—suggesting they are good-hearted and persevering, even in the face of challenges.”

That stopped me in my tracks.

My mom has been gone almost 14 years, and I can still hear her saying that to me. I never realized how much weight those words carried until that moment. It felt like a message—a gentle reminder from her that even though life has knocked me around, I’ve kept getting back up.

These past few years have been the hardest of my life. Losing my mom, stepdad, and grandparents in a span of six years was heavy enough. Then came four kids in three years, and the heartbreaking loss of my sister about a year and a half ago. Shelby and I have been knocked down over and over—and yet, we keep getting back up.

So much of that resilience, that grit, I learned from my mom. She was a single mom with two kids under two—get back up. A freak accident at the barn nearly took her eye—get back up. Steel rods down her spine—get back up. Cancer three times—get back up. She was grit. Passion and perseverance defined. So when someone like her saw those same qualities in me—kindness, perseverance, a good heart—that’s the kind of compliment that lives in your soul forever. It meant the world.

What a gift she gave me. I will never hear about Charlie Brown without thinking of my mom. We keep getting back up. And I hope—wherever she is—she sees us now.