She's Not 17 Any More; Know What I Mean?

A short detour while working on the next blog post…

I was seven years old the first time I fell in love. I was absolutely captivated by the tinny, crackling sound coming out of my little transistor radio. The music was like nothing I had never heard before, and I couldn’t get enough of it. The name of the group was the Beatles. When a Beatles song ended on 1260 WNDR, I spun the tiny radio dial over to 1490 WOLF or 620 WHEN or 1390 WFBL. A Beatles song was always playing somewhere.

Just as JFK was the first “television president,” the Beatles were the first television/video band. The group’s introduction to America was on television – The Ed Sullivan Show on February 9, 1964. And their first movie, A Hard Day’s Night, has been called the forerunner of music videos and MTV. Those are the images of the Beatles that are burned into our cultural consciousness – the Fab Four frozen in time.

That’s why it was so startling to see Paul McCartney on Saturday Night Live this past weekend. Instead of that beaming, fresh-faced kid I see every time I re-run A Hard Day’s Night on DVD, I was looking at a puffy-faced Mrs. Doubtfire. And the voice? Let’s not even go there. This couldn’t really be McCartney, could it? I mean, he was his original black-and-white self just a couple of weeks ago as I watched the old Sullivan shows while trimming the Christmas tree.

Has it really been 46 years? There’s no way McCartney could have aged that much. It’s not like I’ve gotten any older. My eyes are almost as good as ever. So are my ears if you speak clearly enough. I still have all my teeth – until the appointment for that molar. The elbow twinge and knee thing are from sleeping on them wrong. And the stiffness after golf is nothing more than stress from work. Stress must also be the reason I sometimes go to bed a little earlier, which is why Saturday Night Live for me was Sunday morning, recorded.

Besides, I don’t really look any different. My brows are only falling over my eyes a little. That extra bit of skin on my neck is from losing weight. I’m shorter now than I was in sixth grade only because I have a bad back, not because of age. Yes, my temples – only my temples! – have a touch of white. I do color my beard, but only to keep those few prematurely gray whiskers from standing out, thank you! And who are these kids who keep calling me Grandpa Pete?

Okay, okay. But is it really self-denial if you don’t feel old? Not long ago, my good friend Mike recalled that when our parents were this age, they were old. At least they seemed that way to us. Is that how our kids see us? I don’t think, feel or act any differently now than I did in my 20s and 30s. If 60 is the new 40, I’m still in my 20s. Heck, sometimes I still wonder when I’ll become an adult.

I now listen to the Beatles on digital satellite radio. Or on CD through a home theater system. The music is so much clearer now. So are the words. When Paul McCartney sang “Well she was just seventeen, you know what I mean” on that little transistor radio, I had no idea what he meant. Now, of course, I do and if I really think about it, it kind of creeps me out. Maybe it’s a sign I am getting older. And that’s okay.

A final irony – I saw the latest Beatles/iTunes commercial on TV just now. They say some things were never really as good as we remember them. That’s probably true. Sometimes they’re even better.

I'm Number One! No You're Not, I Am!

I live one expressway stop from the University of North Florida. It usually takes me no more than 10 minutes to get to work. My flexible schedule allows me to avoid the worst of the morning rush hour.

On the road one morning last week, I had a bit of a surprise. I looked in the rear view mirror to see the sharp, late model, bright red Lexus I had just passed. The driver appeared to be a professional woman, probably in her 30s. Her face was frosted in a sneering mask of hate, and she was flipping me the bird.

I was a bit startled and definitely puzzled. This was not the first time another driver had ever used a gesture to tell me I was “Number One.” Yes, I will admit I often deserve it. But, this time, I could not figure out what I had done wrong. I wasn’t driving too fast. There was plenty of room to change lanes. I signaled my intention well in advance. Could that be it? Using a turn signal in Florida is a dead giveaway that the driver is a Yankee. But, no, I don’t think it was the blinker. I don’t know her actual reason, but here’s my best guess – it was actually her lane.

You know what I mean. I believe she considered an undetermined but generous distance in front of her car as “hers.” It was her territory and I had encroached on it. That new positioning in her highway sphere of influence made her, in her mind, “Number Two.” This was not a person who thought of herself as “Number Two.” Actually, few of us do.

                  Most of us were taught at an early, impressionable age that the United States is the greatest country in the world. There were, and still are, many reasons to believe that. Many generations of Americans fought and died for that belief. They deserve our honor and respect. But those sacrifices were for “us” as a country, not necessarily “us” as individuals. I think we’ve lost that distinction. I think we’ve replaced our sense of common purpose with individual gain. “We’re Number One” has become “I’m Number One and you can go to hell.”

                  The World War II era produced what’s been called “The Greatest Generation.” Uncle Sam crooked his finger and said “I Need You,” and Americans answered. Even civilians sacrificed for the common good, enduring shortages of everyday staples such as gasoline, eggs, butter and meat. There were no new cars or appliances to replace old ones; manufacturers produced jeeps and tanks instead.

Fifty years later, our priority was no longer “we” but “me.” Uncle Sam’s “I Need You” became “Be All You Can Be,” and later “An Army of One.” I have a difficult time envisioning an “army of one” becoming a second great generation.

                  How did we morph from a society to a group of individuals? Just fifteen years after the end of World War II, John Kennedy said “ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.” Less than 20 years later, Ronald Reagan asked, “Are you better off today than you were four years ago?” No, I’m not blaming Reagan. His question came at the end of the ’70s, the “Me Decade,” and merely reflected what we had become. But because it was said by the man who would be president, it legitimized self interest.

Consider this – Kennedy’s Peace Corps was a noble initiative not because of who he was but because of what we were in 1961. George H.W. Bush’s “Thousand Points of Light” were vaguely quaint in the mid-1980s because of what we had become. And now? Uncle Sam keeps his finger to himself while more and more of us use ours. Each of us is Number One, especially when another driver passes us on “our” road.

As I stated originally, the purpose of this blog is to inspire thought with posts that may challenge you or maybe even anger you. If I’ve done that here, please share your thoughts by clicking on the “Comments” link below. And if you’d like an automatic email whenever I add a new post, click on the “Follow” link at the top of the right column. Next post – no challenges or anger. Instead, I’ll “make nice” with the story of the incredible convergence of an NFL blowout, a Syracuse University classmate, my dear departed dad, and a sports hall of fame. They all came together on one day a year ago October!