It’s 1978 and it’s been a Hard Days Night. 5th grade can be that way sometimes. But in my closeted little world, it’s 1964. My bestest friends in the world and I have signed up for the SJS talent show. In our easter best sport coats, and ties, we will take to the creaky wooden stage at the end of the cafeteria, and hoist our cardboard faux guitars over our shoulders, and lip sync our way through “She Love’s You” by the Beatles. In my 11 year old world, this is as close as it gets to being a rock star. Hell, looking back now at 42 years of age, it WAS as close as I ever got to being a rock star.
I bring it up because I just spent the last hour and a half watching “A Hard Day’s Night” on the youtube. It’s been at least 30 years since the last time I saw it on UHF sitting at home on a rainy Saturday afternoon. I have to say, I enjoyed it even more this time, although the fact that it was subtitiled from Liverpudlian to American helped immensely.
In the height of my Beatles infatuation I took guitar lessons, and failed miserably at it. I was a natural lefty, but my instructor insisted that I learn right handed, and fine motor skills were never my strong suit to begin with. It remains, along with Typing Class in my senior year at ND, the only two things I have ever quit in my life. So I was sufficiently impressed when 20 Prospect Jr. took up guitar lessons at age 7 and seemed to master the instrument over night. Sadly, he only stuck with it for a year, and when his teacher moved away to Florida, he gave up on it. I wanted to take his 8 year old self aside and say “Listen kid, it doesn’t mean anything to you now, but trust me on this one thing. If you stick with guitar lessons for the next 5 years you will never want for a girlfriend for the rest of your natural born life.”
I admit, I see the world through rose colored John Lennon glasses. I’m sure it’s just a myth that musicians get all the girls. But I think it has been well established that most of my life was spent in the fruitless pursuit of the softer sex. As a gangly, mop haired, crooked toothed kid of 10, there was nothing in the world that I wanted more than to be a Beatle. Preferably Paul McCartney circe 1964. Then all the girls in the world would chase me down the streets screaming as the soundtrack played. Wacky hijinks would follow, and then of course a heart felt balled to the doe eyed crush of my choice, who’s knees would weaken as she gazed up at me adoringly. Sadly, it was never to be, although watching the movie tonight, I realized that adolescence wasn’t a total loss. I was blessed with better dental hygeine than anyone in the UK in the decade of the 60’s, so I had that going for me.