I am quite serious about that. I am in love with the Beatles. Each one of them. My heart skips a beat at their charm. I pine for them. I long for them. Of course, the Beatles, individually and collectively are much more than just musicians and rock stars. They are an entire part of my young life - so much so that I cannot extricate them from who I remember myself to be during a 3 to 4 year period of my young life in the 60's. They are the most significant memory of my first and second grade year. Their music - their early music - became part of the fabric of my being.
My very first memory of them was when I was 6 years old, seeing them get off a plane somewhere in America and it being covered by the news. My grandpa was visiting at the time. He was an amateur opera singer. He looked at them with disgust and said: "Oh for God's sake, they look like a bunch of girls". Eager to please my grandpa, I pledged my disinterest in them and said "I could never like them". But I lied because I watched the Ed Sullivan show later that week and forever more, I was in over my head.
A crush? Oh man, no! It went way beyond a crush! They were an obsession. I had a whole fantasy life built around the Fab Four. They were adorable. Just this side of "bad", they were still safe - not like the Rolling Stones - who scared me. The Beatles matched. They, in their grey suits and ties with high collared shirts and matching hair. They with their Liverpool accents and winking and "knowing" smiles. They made you feel like they really would like you if they met you. At 6, I believed that they were kind and good and they would take care of me if they knew me. Like I would be the most important thing in the world to them - if they only knew who I was.
It was Paul that I was over the moon over. I was jealous of Jane Asher for being his girlfriend and even though I was only 6, I would pretend I was her and at night I would close my eyes and imagine I was on a date with Paul. My hand was his lips and we would kiss. And that was the full extent of my mad and passionate affair with Paul McCartney. Well that and kissing his picture. I know, I was young - but think Snow White and Prince Charming - the Disney version...
As the Beatles evolved over the years, and I grew older - I still loved them - but not like when I was 6. Their music was certainly much better in their later years but I would choose to listen to the early Beatles over Sargent Pepper or the White Album any day. Not because I don't love Sargent Pepper or the White Album - I most certainly do. But they do not evoke the heart fluttering, emotional response from me that the early albums do.
As an adult, I have naturally followed their lives and careers and have tremendous appreciation for their contribution to music and our culture in general. I remember where I was when John Lennon was killed and I cried when George Harrison died. I stifled a squeal when I saw Ringo once in Santa Monica. I was thrilled to see Paul on Letterman recently and when my girls saw him in concert this summer, Jennifer called me from her cell phone so I could listen to him live. Loved that.
And as I sit here watching "Help" with my daughter I am trying so hard not to choke because I cannot hear those songs - any of them - without being moved, nearly to tears. I don't want her to see me welling up and have her ask me why I am crying. Because I can't explain it. It is a feeling that is very full because a part of me lives in this dumb movie we are watching. It is crazy but I'm telling you, it runs deep. And I realize I long for the innocence of the time, for four charming young boys who belong to that time, and their music so magical that I can still feel the flutter of the heart of a little girl, 6 years old at the time. They still show up periodically in my dreams. Honest to God, they do. I still love them in my dreams. But in my dreams, they love me back - like we were very old and dear, dear friends.
For those of you who may have decided - after reading this entry - that I am completely unhinged, what can I say? I will love them till the day I die. And honest to God, I am watching them sing "Ticket to Ride" and I have tears in my eyes. Yeah, yeah, yeah.
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Spot on, my friend. I shall force my middle sister, Diana, to read this entry. She was THE Beatlemaniac in the family and still has a lot of classic memorabilia.
ReplyDeleteAnd here I thought I was the only one...(!)
ReplyDeleteDid I ever tell you about the Beatle party I was given for my 40th birthday? It was the most fun I had since the party WE had when the Beatles came to SF!
(We are in MT. on vacation, and 2 days ago as we started across the Going To the Sun Road, "Here Comes the Sun" began to play on the CD player in the car- and I cried!)
Thank you!!!