I was caught up as much as any 12-year-old female in the Beatlemania craze. Every girl I knew had to declare who her favorite Beatle was. John appealed to those drawn to bad boys. Paul, on the other hand, was irresistibly cute and seemed safer to take home to meet your parents. Ringo was the choice of those big-hearted types who melted over sad-puppy eyes. Girls like me, who were drawn to the quiet brooding type with soulful eyes, went bonkers for George.
Yes, George Harrison was the Beatle for me, until I met my first real boyfriend, Mike M. He looked just like Paul McCartney. Everybody said so. Except for his coloring, sandy-blond hair and blue eyes, he could have been his twin. Continue reading