This must be the place
I teared up immediately. The moment I heard John Lennon’s voice in the latest documentary about The Beatles, the Ron Howard directed “Eight Days A Week — The Touring Years,” my vision became blurry, my thoughts scattered, as I pondered a modern world with Lennon still alive — the ambassador of hope, love, and the promise of a better tomorrow.
Entering the Fine Arts Theatre in downtown Asheville this past Sunday afternoon, it became quickly apparent I would be one of the few in attendance under the age of, perhaps, 60. The Beatles are beloved by all, by any age or demographic, but, they will — always — be owned by my parents and their peers.
I’ve never known an existence without The Beatles. My parents do, and yet, I never will. And that’s not a bad thing. Far from it. The point of The Beatles is to practice and perpetuate love, understanding, and what it means to not see color — only friendship and companionship.
Thus, taking a seat at the Fine Arts Theatre, I found myself amid, as my mother would say, her “vintage.” And I was happy to be amongst company that knew the “real deal,” that were once teenage girls and boys in search of safe haven in the midst of the tumultuous 1960s, nationally and internationally.
My mother is 67 years old, and when The Beatles first broke into “The States,” taking the stage on Ed Sullivan on Feb. 9, 1964, she was a 15-year-old starry-eyed teenager with ambitions to take over the world. All seemed possible, all was possible, regardless of what your parents, the media, and the town limits of where you lived might have said otherwise.
And she grew up, like everyone else who experienced the 1960s did. They went to college, got jobs, had kids, bought cars, bought homes, only to gain weight and lose hair, only to think about retirement instead of never-imagined dreams. She grew up, and became my mother.
By: Garret K Woodward
Source: Smokey Mountain News
