Peanuts

Next week my daughter, and in part myself, will be hosting a couple of exchange students from China. I am reminded of my own experience, leading a group of Japanese high school students many years ago on a visit/tour of California and the Grand Canyon.

Even now I do not remember how I got hoodwinked into such a mess, but there I was, waiting at the Jewish summer camp that would house the students for a few days. The bus pulled out and all these wonderful young students came clamoring out. To them, we were rock stars, Americans, powerful and sexy and smart. At least that's what I thought.

I had a small group of young men and almost immediately I was set upon by my packs leader, we will call him Shithead. Shithead was funny and charming and he had a nickname for me, Peanuts. The first few days we did fun things, swimming, playing catch and watching American movies. The students loved it. We were in Southern California, the weather was perfect and the Jewish summer camp had all sorts of game rooms and activities that would keep Jews busy, so the students and us counselors were having a great time.

The plan was to spend some time in California, bus to the Grand Canyon and then bus back for a couple of days at Disneyland and then they students would be on a plane back home. Pretty simple.

Shithead loved to have his posse around and call me, "Peanuts, we go swim now?" And I would say yes, because really, my job was to keep the students occupied and happy. "Peanuts, we watch movie now?" Why of course we will Shithead, why not? Late at night, a sleep Shithead would come to me, "Peanuts, we watch another movie?" Sure I would say, because that was my job and I was starting to warm to the posse, but especially Shithead, who almost seemed like the Asian version of me, always smiling, having fun and looking for and enjoying causing trouble. We would bond on our need to bring chaos to calm situations.

In the morning I would hear "Peanuts, where are you?" I would rumble out of bed and join Shithead and his posse for cereal and orange juice. Another day, more adventure. We went rock climbing, and Shithead was a light, albeit chubby, rock climbing master. He got to the top and screamed for all the world to hear, "Peanuts, I on top."

The bus ride to the Grand Canyon was boring, but I sat in the back with Shithead and his posse, laughing at jokes I failed to understand and making some of my own, which they in turn did not understand, but politely smiled and nodded at. It was a good time. At the canyon itself, everyone wanted their picture taken with me, Shithead orchestrating everything, "stand next to Peanuts, smile," he would demand. On it went. By the end of the day, we were all swimming, "Peanuts, play Mark Polo." We had a great time, laughing almost the entire day. It was good.

Back on the buses and off to Disneyland. I think we slept most of the time, although somewhere around the California border I woke to find Shithead trying to draw a smile on my forehead with a black marker. Not cool Shithead, not cool.

We checked into the hotel in Anaheim, Shithead and his band and I shared a room, so it was going to be a wild time, that was a given. We did get some sleep, and early the next morning we all made our way to the Magic Kingdom. All day all I heard was Peanuts this and Peanuts that. "We take picture with Peanuts." I felt for a second what it must be like to have celebrity status, these Asian boys just adored me and wanted my picture.

Now, you have to understand, for the vast majority of my young life I had very few nicknames, one being Fatty Matty and the other, a reoccurring name, Ugly. Peanuts was a marked improvement over both and I kind of thought if it stuck, it would not be that bad.

We had a magical time at Disneyland. The posse and I bonded, there were countless pictures of the boys and Peanuts and all the time, on every ride all I could hear was Peanuts, look, or Peanuts smile. It was fun beyond words.

Then we went back to the hotel to pack and the sad and shocking news would be delivered. The posse was packing bags and taking final group pictures, all of them asking for Peanuts to pose one last time, which I happily did. Then everyone wanted a picture of me and Shithead together. So we sat next to one another on a couch and everyone took our picture. It was fun.

As we sat there and the flashes from the cameras died out, I asked Shithead, why did he decide to start calling me Peanuts. "Because you Peanuts," he said and smiled. "But I am not Peanuts, my name is Matt." "No, you Peanuts," he reiterated. "I don't know what you mean," I said. "You Peanuts," he said and pointed to his crotch, "Peanuts, Peanuts, you peanuts."

"You mean, Penis?" I said, bewildered.

"Yes, you Peanuts."

For a week of fun, games, movies, travel and adventure, where I was seriously bonding with my brothers from Japan, the entire time they were basically calling me a dick, to my face, and I thought it was a compliment.

Lesson learned I guess, sometimes in life, we may think we are the Peanuts at the parade, and in reality, we are just another, well, dick.