When I watched the Beatles consecutive appearances on The Ed Sullivan Show I was ten. When they left the stage after the last song on the last night, a few tears rolled down my cheek and my Dad made fun of me.
I had nightmares and would sleep with a nightlight on. My Mom was a waitress and sometimes she worked at night. When I woke up in the morning I'd find things she brought home for me sitting on the floor by my nightlight. Beatles magazines, Packs of gum that contained Beatles cards, Beatles buttons, a 45rpm.
I favored Paul, he was cute and he seemed nice, my second fave of the fab four was George, he was cute too and he seemed like a bit of a loner (always went for the loners). John always seemed too full of himself and Ringo just a bit silly. But they were a group and that's usually the way I thought of them.
I never saw the Beatles live, but I did see The Dave Clark Five at the age of eleven. I went to concerts, not as many as some peers, but enough. It was exciting when I was there, but at this age it's mostly just a blur. I still enjoy any kind of live music and will occasionally attend a concert out of nostalgia. I tend to avoid crowds nowadays.
Paul McCartney played in Philadelphia a few years ago, I thought about going, then forgot about it. The concert came and went and I was sad I hadn't even tried to get tickets. It may have been my last chance.
Regret sucks. I let it go.
Last summer he returned. Tickets were exorbitant and I think they sold out rather quickly. The idea of seeing Sir Paul left my brain, but still unbeknownst to me the idea never left my heart.
A couple of days before the concert a friend called and asked what I was doing on a particular night. I rambled on, I don't remember what I said. Then I heard my friend say; "You're going to see Paul McCartney". To say that I was dumbfounded would have been an understatement.
Somebody couldn't attend due to a business trip, so they asked my friend, my friend already saw McCartney, thought I would want the ticket, blah,blah,blah. Long story short, the friend of the friend of the friend went. Not me. It doesn't matter.
For twenty four hours I thought I might see Paul McCartney.
My heart was happy.
In this instance too,
it most surely was
the thought that counts.
