When I was nine years old, I saw the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan show. I watched on my parents’ black and white television. I had already been warned by my mother that the Beatles were a dirty word in our house (not for the reasons they were banned in other homes like their long hair and lifestyle), but because rumor had it their music signaled the end of jazz and my father was a jazz musician. Like millions of other kids who tuned in that night, I could barely contain myself. My nine year old body quivered…I can still remember the feeling like it was yesterday. I wanted to dance all over the living room…it was as if something broke inside of me that was holding me back and now I was free to fly. But I didn’t because I was afraid of my father’s temper. So I sat there and watched quietly.
After that night, everything changed.
Less than a mile away, a similar scene played out at Gary’s house.
If you are a person of a certain age, you know exactly what I’m talking about.
Our favorite Beatle was John Lennon. I’m not exaggerating when I say he’s part of who Gary and I are.
When you’re a kid, you fantasize about meeting your idols but deep down, you know it won’t happen.
If you had told our nine year old or even twenty-nine year old selves that someday we would have a child* who would be friends and play a gig with John Lennon’s child, Gary and I would have rolled our eyes, laughed and said, “In what universe?”
So when I say our brains are broken, I am not joking. Not even a little.
What a crazy, messy, fantastic world.
*Eric also spent a day hanging out with Sean at the Moog factory but I don’t have a pic. Like my mind isn’t blown enough.
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