Nina has developed a fondness for the Beatles. Quite an improvement over the Wonder Pets, in my book. It's fun to get a 3 year old's perspective on their music- her favorites right now are Yellow Submarine and Good Day Sunshine. We discuss the lyrics, and the band at length- today, the she was quite troubled by the song Girl: Mimi, why is he sad? What is that boy's name? Is he crying? Why did the girl leave? Did he love her? Is John a girl? It goes on and on.
I don't think she even grasps the concept of what a band actually is. And the name Beatles is confusing- until I showed her a picture recently, she thought they were singing insects. She wants me to repeat their names and tell her things about the one who is singing the song we're listening to. Today during Yellow Submarine she wondered if Ringo was the Baby Beatle. I love her sweet little world.
Listening to Beatles music regularly again brings back lots of memories. I grew up in a household where Rock and Roll was thought to be the "Devil's music." Songs like Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds didn't help their cause, in my father's eyes. He referred to them as a bunch of bums- a favorite description of his reserved for people he considered amoral, like most politicians, actors and rock stars. He believed that classical music was the only kind worth listening to, so I had a great exposure to wonderful music as a child. I still haven't figured out why he owned the Goldfinger and Harlowe movie soundtracks. We loved those albums and I'm sure added many scratches to their surfaces since they were favorites for my sisters and I when we put on scarf-dancing performances for my parents. (Scarf-dancing was when we tied my mother's scarves around our wrists and twirled around the den to those 2 records. My poor parents.)
Anyway, I digress. When I went to Kindergarten, I was a shy little crybaby. I was afraid of everyone and everything. One of the first things I was involved in was a Beatles talent show- we were supposed to work as a team with a few other classmates and come up with some kind of little skit or act accompanied by a Beatles song. I thought my teacher was sending me right down the path to hell. We also did dancing to Beatles songs in gym- I would purposely forget my sneakers and watch my classmates, and pray for their souls while sitting against the gym wall.
The years went by and in High School I started to hang out with a girl named Jeri Goldstein. This was in the mid 70's, but as far as she was concerned, the Beatles were still going strong. We sat in her bedroom (every surface of which was decorated with Beatles posters) by the hour, listening to their albums, and memorizing bootlegged Christmas greetings they had sent to members of their fan club. Jeri was cool- she was Jewish, emotional, passionate, pretended to play the guitar, imagined that she was a hippie, and was probably a little unstable. I loved her. Her favorite Beatle was the sarcastic, ironic, clever John- mine was the sweet, deep, sensitive George. It was fun.
So, now, here I am, singing along to those same old songs with my granddaughter, having flashbacks to Kindergarten and Jeri's bedroom. And appreciating their music more than ever. They were brilliant, and their music is timeless. Today we saw a picture on a magazine cover of John, with long hair and glasses. Nina didn't understand that it was the same person as that younger Beatle she's gotten to know. And when I told her it was his birthday today and she asked me if he was having a party, I said probably not, he's kind of old now to have birthday parties. 72 years old. I hate that someday she'll find out what happened to him and won't understand it, like the rest of us.
No comments:
Post a Comment