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Letter: Screaming and crying hysterically

I was 14 years old when the Beatles led the British Invasion of the United States. My best friends and I bought their album, crowded around the TV on Sunday night to see them on the Ed Sullivan Show and picked our favorite Beatle. Mine was Ringo. Life as I knew it was permanently altered when we four got tickets and a ride to their concert in Washington, D.C. We never heard a word they sang because we, along with every other young girl in the crowd, were screaming and crying hysterically for the entire concert. It is exhausting to even think about. Two and a half years later, far more mature, the four of us attended the Beatles concert at D.C. Stadium and complained, as only 16-year-olds can, about how difficult it was to hear the music over the screaming fans. Ah, life.

Part II to my Beatlemania is that when my niece was 2, I realized my brother was playing Beach Boys CDs for her, so I gave her a CD of Meet the Beatles. When she wanted to listen to it, she’d request “the bug” music. When said niece reached the age of 12 and bought a guitar, I gave her my copy of the Beatles Songbook. This year, at the age of 14 (it’s a circle of life thing) she and her best friend (who is a bigger Beatle maniac than I ever was) have started their own band. Their entire repertoire consists of Beatles covers.



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