This weekend marks a landmark in our cultural history- the arrival of the Beatles in America. I was one of those young girls who pined over the handsome foursome and even managed to see them in concert in Cleveland, Ohio in 1964. I don't quite know how I convinced my parents to let me go- but I think like many my mom and dad were impressed by the fab four with their shaggy hair and charming ways and they allowed me to attend with my best friend. I vaguely remember a lot of screaming girls as they played and in an effort to commemorate my presence there gathered up some of the confetti that was thrown in abandon as a souvenir.
In junior high, I had a huge crush on Paul (even though I thought George was a lot more sensitive) and wrote my first first person narrative called "My Secret Life with the Beatles" which I passed around during history class and let my girlfriends surreptitiously read. They would encourage me to write more with suggestions like "More sex!!" "More romance!!" however I was pretty uninformed on those subjects and was limited in my imaginings to Paul's hands searching my undergarments and passionate kisses (I think there was even a kind of rivalry over me between Paul and John- a girl can dream!). Sometime in high school I came upon this literary effort and feeling embarrassed by my younger self, threw the story away. So, I have only a faint recollection of what I wrote. Still, looking back I appreciate the excitement the Beatles inspired in me and all the stirrings their music brought forth in my adolescent soul. Now, when I catch my kids listening to one of their famous tunes I am easily carried back to when four boys with a signature haircut and Cockney accents swept the world with their rock 'n roll message celebrating heartache and love.