Snoopy and a Slice of Inspiration

I’ve been thinking a lot about Snoopy lately—not just the cartoon beagle, but everything he represents. Like most kids, I grew up with the classics: Charlie Brown specials airing just at the right times of the year, when the world slowed down to watch. Those specials felt special, like little gifts saved for us during prime time. But my connection to Snoopy goes deeper than just the cartoons.

My dad had this quiet, quirky sense of humor that came through in the music he chose for the house. Among his records were two albums by The Royal Guardsmen, the band famous for their Snoopy-themed songs. Yes, Snoopy vs. The Red Baron and its playful, imaginative storytelling played on repeat in our living room. Around Christmas, their Snoopy’s Christmas album took center stage, nestled right in with the traditional holiday classics. It wasn’t your average Christmas album—and neither was I your average kid.

While Bing Crosby crooned on one turntable, I found myself drawn to the unconventional whimsy of the Guardsmen’s Snoopy songs. They were lighthearted but layered, silly but sincere. Listening to them wasn’t just about the music—it was a connection to my dad. He’d crack jokes in the same goofy spirit as those songs, his voice carrying a similar warmth and playfulness. It’s funny how music becomes a bridge, a way to hear someone’s humor and love long after they’ve left the room.

In many ways, Snoopy became a kind of role model for me. He was clever, mischievous, imaginative, and fiercely individual—qualities I admired, especially as a kid who didn’t always fit the mold. I wasn’t a cute little beagle with a black nose, though, so I didn’t get embraced quite as easily as Snoopy. My history teachers, for example, weren’t exactly the nurturing type. One even called me “Crazy Jane,” a label that didn’t just sting but fed into the way I already felt—different, dismissed, and not worth taking seriously.

That indifference didn’t stop me from being curious, though. My love for history grew as I got older, not from the dry lectures or whitewashed textbooks, but from watching people, listening to stories, and questioning the narratives we were handed. Albums like Snoopy vs. The Red Baron didn’t teach me history, but they made me wonder about the stories behind the stories, sparking my interest in the real—and sometimes messy—truths of our past.

Fast-forward to now, and I find myself still reflecting on Snoopy’s charm—his resilience, his boundless creativity, and his ability to turn any moment into a grand adventure. That’s what inspired me to create a Snoopy pie. Yes, a pie! It felt like the perfect tribute to a character who’s been with me through the years, and to the memories of my dad, who helped me appreciate the value of being delightfully different.

The Snoopy pie is more than just a dessert—it’s a symbol of joy, individuality, and the connections that shape us. And honestly, it’s cute as heck.