And I Love Him

A rather startlingly unretouched photo of Paul McCartney recently appeared on the cover of AARP magazine. Next month Macca turns 64 and because he immortalized that age in song, I imagine a good many mags will feature him the way AARP did.

Now that we're down to just two Beatles, seeing the passage of time and the mortality it implies etched on his face made me a little uncomfortable. Then I dug it. We all know how old he is, so why should he pretend otherwise? He's Sir Paul, dammit. He's entirely too cool to have to bother with anything as superficial as cosmetic surgery. (Which is not to say I wouldn't have it done if I could afford it, but I'm nowhere near as cool as Sir Paul.) I do remember reading somewhere that when he's not performing he wears fake nails because 50 years of plucking and strumming have worn his away. Of course, I also read somewhere that Jackie and Onassis were behind JFK's assassination.

But I digress.

Paul. My Paul. Paulie. Macca. The man has provided the soundtrack of my entire life. I fell in love with him when I was 6 years old, sitting in front of my parents' console TV, and I heard him sing, "Close your eyes and I'll kiss you/tomorrow I'll miss you/remember I'll always be true." He sang about romance in an innocent, tender, uncomplicated way that even a first grader could relate to. And oh, how he looked while he sang! Those big brown eyes, that perfectly straight nose, that tiny rosebud mouth. I told my mother, "He's so pretty it hurts to look."I still feel that way. Even when I look at the AARP cover.

In HELP!, during "Another Girl," Paul strums a bathing suit clad "bird" like a guitar. His hand slips and he looks so naughty and delighted. At that age I wasn't completely sure what breasts were for, but if Paul liked them, I would concentrate very hard on growing them.

By high school "the lads" had gone there separate ways. But I returned to The White Album again and again. "Who knows how long I've loved you/you know I love you still/shall I wait a lonely lifetime/if you want me to, I will." A love song to someone I hadn't met. Only Paul understood how cold all those shallow and clumsy teenage boys left me. But his song reassured me that the fault wasn't mine. I simply hadn't met my soulmate yet.

"Jet." "Silly Love Songs." "No More Lonely Nights." "My Brave Face." "Put It There." All the way to "Lonely Road" and "Fine Line." Each song inspires a specific memory of a time and place. And even the memories of heartache are bittersweet because they are accompanied by that timeless troubadour's voice.

So he's no longer young. That's okay. Neither am I. We've come down the road together this far. I look forward to enjoying the journey with him for many more years to come.