To me, he's the villain of childhood terrors.
When I was very young, Mr. Peanut wasn't simply a cartoon; he was an adult-size living creature. I knew this because I saw him on the sidewalk near a tiny nut shop in Woonsocket, Rhode Island, the downtown where my parents sometimes shopped.
Some children are terrified of clowns or of Santa Claus. For me, it was Mr. Peanut.
I had never met Mr. Peanut. I had never even been close to him. Inside, he was probably a kindly gentleman, maybe even another child's loving grandfather, who was stuck all day in that stuffy suit, unable to bend at the waist, trying to entice customers into the shop.
Someone might have told me all this, but it would have been irrelevant. To me, he was a giant peanut with human arms and legs -- creepy, unnatural, nightmare material.
I remember one day when the four of us were strolling down the street. My father was in the lead, holding my hand; my mother held onto my younger sister. He and I were playing our hand-squeezing game: I'd squeeze his, he'd squeeze mine a little harder, and we'd escalate until, inevitably, I couldn’t squeeze any harder and I'd quit, which was comforting because of course your dad is supposed to be stronger than you.
We were carefree and happy, until (cue the dum-dum, dum-dum music from "Jaws"), through the gaps between shoppers who bustled before us, I spied, standing on the sidewalk about a half block away, gasp, Mr. Peanut. Panic!
A quite, hasty conversation ensued between my parents. I suppose it was the usual discussion about a child's irrational fears: Should you force her to face the cause and thereby (maybe) overcome the fear, or help her avoid the cause until she outgrows the fear by herself?
My mother said, "Let's cross the street." And we did.
Then, grasping my father's hand, I mustered the courage to walk, heart racing, past that horrifying Mr. Peanut, with the wide, busy street between us.
Now, decades later, I've outgrown the fear all by myself. When I learned about Mr. Peanut's birthday, I began to wonder how the old guy has been doing all these years. I googled "Mr. Peanut" and arrived at planters.com where you’re directed to Mr. Peanut’s Facebook page.
When he roamed Rhode Island terrorizing children, he sported a rakish moustache which, along with his ever-present monocle, probably contributed to the creepiness. He has always worn a top hat, white gloves, and spats, and carries a Fred Astaire cane for dancing. His black limbs suggest a tuxedo.
They’ve spiffed him up — to make him look more modern, I suppose. They’ve given him a black jacket over a white shirt and dark tie. He seems to be sporting a little eye makeup to accentuate his eyes, which seem to have grown bigger.
But horror of horrors! Where he once had a blank white space between his curling lips, he now has teeth! Mr. Peanut has teeth!
If he’d had teeth when I was little, I'd still be having nightmares.
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