Not the deepest of lyrics, but ones which I know well. Like many Baby Boomers, not only can I sing along to pretty much any Lennon/McCartney song, their songs have become part of my psyche. Of course, I’m not alone. From I Want to Hold Your Hand to Let it Be, the Beatles defined my generation.
Was it really that long ago that I was giggling with a group of Jr. High girls while debating which Beatle was the cutest? (Paul, of course!) I clearly remember sitting in class when an important paper was passed around. It wasn’t from the teacher. It was far more important. Vote for your favorite Beatle. Mark just one. I don’t remember what class it was, but I recall both paper and judgment being passed that day. She really thinks Ringo is cute? She just likes to be different!
Fast forward a few years to June,1967. A new song, When I’m Sixty Four could be heard on car radios all over town. It was laughable. Sure, it’s a catchy tune, and of course I sang along to it like everyone else (“like everyone else” is very important when you’re 16). But why was Paul (young, beautiful Paul) singing about turning sixty-four? That’s old! White haired grandmas are sixty-four! Plus I was filled with more than the normal teenage angst that summer. My family was moving, and I was sure I would not survive. My heart was shattered, and Paul was singing about turning sixty-four? For the first time, I thought he really didn’t understand me…even with the catchy tune. (What? You mean it wasn’t MY thirteen year old hand he wanted to hold a few years prior?)
Fast forward to today. It’s 2015, and wonders of wonders, I’m turning sixty-four! What strikes me is how incredibly fast the years have flown. I’m not white-haired (thanks to my hairdresser), but I am a grandma. I sing that song now with a whole different attitude. I’m grateful that I’ve made it this long. The Beatles have made sixty-four a milestone year.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t always like getting older. I hate that the bags under my eyes are so defined and that my thighs jiggle. Those extra pounds have taken up residence and don’t want to leave. And let’s be honest, hearing your joints creak as you get out of bed in the morning, is not a sign of youthful exuberance.
I don’t exactly live the idyllic life Paul sang about, but I do live the best part. I’ve grown older with someone who still needs me and feeds me. Yep, life could be worse for this sixty-four year old. Thanks, Paul. By the way, you’re still the cutest.