I don’t remember much about it. August 21, 1966. But I was there. Crosley Field, Cincinnati. I begged my mom to let me go to the Beatles concert. I was 8.
She made my teen siblings take me. I don’t know how they felt about it, but I know I loved being there.
I had no idea the impact it would have on the rest of my life. From then on, if I told somebody I saw the Beatles in concert, they’d say “really?” And I feel cool for about 10 seconds.
I know my life is not defined by seeing John, Paul, George, and Ringo, but it’s still pretty dang cool isn’t it?
Yeah, yeah, yeah.