English: John Lennon and Yoko Ono
English: John Lennon and Yoko Ono (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


English: John Lennon Deutsch: John Lennon
English: John Lennon Deutsch: John Lennon (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


When I was three years old, John Lennon died.  That day is forever etched in my mind an imprint that has lasted a lifetime.  Let me set the scene for you.  Picture a little girl, with long brown hair. chocolate brown eyes, and cheeks just chubby enough to need to be pinched by every female over the age of forty.  She sits before a console television, watching Sesame Street.  Suddenly, a very stern looking man flickers before her eyes; he is very grave.  She cocks her head in interest.  This is new.  This is important.  Big Bird was important, and so was learning to read.  And counting.  And singing.  Kassie loved Sesame Street.  She loved the Muppets.


This very sad looking man was announcing that someone had died.  A man named John Winston Lennon.  Kassie was a great reader, Mama said so, even at three years old, she has learned to observe so many things around her and absorbs those observations like a sponge, for later need.  I never questioned my inquisitiveness, Mama never saw it as anything other than a gift from the goddess her daughter was named after.  I truly believe that, Mama.  Thank you.


John’s picture appeared next and then grew into a smaller box inside the box Kassie was learning from.  Through the innovation of PBS, this little girl was allowed to learn as much as she wanted to, and by the kindness of a mother who wanted to see what happened if you simply let a child teach herself if she knew how already. Kassie turns to her Mama, who is changing her baby sister, and asks why all those people are crying; only to see tears streaking down the eyes of her own Mama.  THIS MUST BE HUGE!  WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE SO AWFUL?:


Kassie runs to her Mama and wipes at tears she doesn’t understand as music pours out of the television speakers again, and Kassie turns, and she KNOWS this man, she’s heard his voice on her Mama’s records.  He’s the Fool On the Hill.  He’s part of that band that Mama hums now and then.  He is part of THEM, The Beatles, Mama had shown her the record covers.  Her Bubby liked to play the records too, so this was very cool to little Kassie.  Kassie liked the places they took her, when she couldn’t read the words yet.  She could hear them.  They told stories, and Kassie really liked stories.  So what did this mean?  She again turns to her Mama, who kneels down to her as if she about to say a VERY IMPORTANT THING.


“The voice of the people has been taken away from us.”  Mama whispers through her sobs.


Kassie was forever instilled with the epicness of this moment in time.  The tv showed picture after picture of John and the Boys.  The Beatles separately, together, their music blending with collages of acres of people mourning.  This is forever burned into her soul.  Their words became a form of self inflicted prophecy for this chubby little brunette.  A bonding is formed between her soul and John’s.  Eternally they are linked.


Today, I sit at my laptop, embarking on another chapter in my own story.  That story has of course theme music, mine just happens to be orchestrated by the GREATEST BAND OF ALL TIME.  If you ask anyone who knows anything about me, I am a BeatleManiac.  I love all things related to the topic of the band as a whole.  Please don’t ever mistake that I don’t respect each and every step the group took collectively, and as solo artists.  The guys understand, you see, this is between John and I.  I never held them in any disregard in my blatant worship of him.


I believe I have read more information on this particular figure in history than anyone has a right to.  If he were alive, I would absolutely be in prison for stalking him, or married to him, which I would infinitely prefer.   I do not feel my words are sacrilege to a monument of personage such as he.  Nor do I feel that I am even worthy of this notice, so tortured a soul was he, trying to be a guiding light for his fellow man, in his own crooked way.


John’s smile can light up my face, and his voice calm the most aching need in my deepest heart.  He is singing to me as I type this.  That often happens with music and me, I don’t know why, but I accept it.  At this moment, he is humming “Mother Nature’s Child”.  I’ll provide links at the end of this epic declaration of faith.  One thing no one could ever accuse the man of was duplicity.  I respect that.  John’s eyes pull me in, and his words describe every emotion and thought I have sometimes.  Now he’s singing “I’m So Tired” and he’s right, I am.  But He’s amusing me.


The greatest story I’ve ever told is of my love for this quirky Quarryman.  I’ve listened to interviews, I’ve read books by him, He narrates my entire existence in an encompassing fashion, he guides me to be a better me, and I am ok with following his lead.  This may seem insane to some, but I can honestly say with a clear and clean conscience that I have never willing acted to do harm against another person unprovoked.  I have only ever fought with words, unless in acts of self preservation.  Now the Beatles are singing the Anthology version of Rocky Raccoon.  The subtle undertones of teaching are in every second of my life when I’m tuned in, turned on, and taking notes.  See, that’s the link.  I’m think I’m supposed to decipher this whole thing somehow to lead at least my own family into what I pray is a better tomorrow, or I am afraid we are ALL doomed.  *Paul’s asides and quips during a jam session are always refreshing when John becomes too intense.*


“Gideon checked out and left it no doubt, to help with Good Rocky’s Revival.”


All the people I love are connected to a singular Beatles or Lennon song.  Including myself….. Sometimes, I am the Walrus. goo goo ca choo.  I understand what he’s saying in each and every note, because an amazing man who also loved John as I did taught me to hear every layer of the music.  He actually taught this as an entire quarter of our 6th grade music class in a tiny little town in the middle of corn country.  The effects of this hippie on me were astounding.  Mr. Joe Foss, you were such a crucial key in the translation, and you’ll always be in my heart.  I miss you very much, but am sure you’re chilling somewhere listening to or playing the most incredible music I’ve ever heard.  You should be very proud of your legacy.  Both as a teacher and as a man with a family who loved music.  You’ve done a fine job in all aspects, though I’m sure someone somewhere would differ.  I am aware you were a human, and that meant you may be flawed, but you were my perfect music teacher.


I have a rather extended family, with modern marriages and whatnot.  Family is a word I use in a very gypsy like manner.  Life has taught each and every one of us that little is permanent, and we should treasure every second we are given because we are all born dying, that is a simple fact.  “You and I have memories that stretch far beyond the road ahead”.. That’s from “On Our Way Home”.  Youtube it.  How do you stop something that seems to be able to control the auditory sensations your receive?  And should I?  It brings me comfort to be caressed by the awesomeness that is my passion for a dead man.  Now the Lads from Liverpool are telling me “Good Night, Sleep Tight”. There’s even a symphony behind Paul wishing me sweet dreams for him and me.




Until next time.









3 thoughts on “My Dear John Letter, Part 1: Meet the Beatles

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