John B. Marek is a storyteller with dirt under his nails who weaves tales inspired by a lifetime immersed in nature. His insightful essays and award-winning fiction delve into the complexities of sustainable living, the heart of rural communities and the thrill of outdoor adventure. You can find more of his writing at johnbmarek.com.
When I discovered that my high school friend Fred had written a slightly fictionalized account of growing up in our hometown titled Pedro and Daniel, I was immediately intrigued. The idea of seeing our shared experiences through his eyes and from his very different perspective was both exciting and a little unnerving. After all, I couldn’t help but wonder how I would be portrayed in his narrative. Fred affectionately – and humorously – referred to our tight-knit group of friends as “The Misfits,” a label that, looking back, I can’t really dispute. We were a quirky, eclectic bunch, each of us carving out our own unique identities while somehow fitting together in ways that made sense only to us. Or put another way, if there had been a malevolent shape-shifting cosmic entity eating young Port Clintonites in the ’70s, I’m pretty sure we’d have been the ones down in the sewers fighting It.
In Fred’s book, I was depicted as a die-hard Beatles fanatic, someone who “lived and breathed” the band. While offering him the grace of artistic license in that description, I suppose it wasn’t entirely off base. During the middle years of high school, I did go through a Beatles phase. Their music seemed to speak to me in a way that nothing else did at the time. I immersed myself in their discography, analyzed their lyrics and even tried to mimic their fashion sense (though my attempts at growing a mop-top were more farce than fashion). I’m sure I talked about the Beatles incessantly, much to the amusement – or perhaps annoyance – of my friends.
However, I wouldn’t go so far as to say I ever “lived and breathed” the band. My obsession was more of a fascination, a temporary but intense chapter in my musical journey. By the time senior year rolled around, my tastes had broadened and I found myself exploring a wider range of artists and genres: the country-rock sound of the Eagles, the dynamic guitar of Dire Straits’ Mark Knopfler, the catchy synth-rock of The Cars and the breezy pop-rock of Fleetwood Mac.
The Beatles remained a fond memory, and I would occasionally dig out “Abby Road” or “Revolver” and play a side, but they were no longer the center of my musical universe. Still, being labeled as the group’s resident Beatles fanatic in Fred’s book made me reflect on that period of my life. It brought back memories of how I first fell in love with their music and the reasons I eventually moved on to other interests.
Despite having an older brother and sisters who were smack dab in the middle of the Beatles demographic, it was actually my father who introduced me to them. Dad enjoyed music, particularly the big band sounds of his youth, but he would occasionally latch onto a modern pop ditty and claim it as his own. And by that, I mean that he would buy the single and play it incessantly. Some of his memorable favorites were Elton John and Kiki Dee’s “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,” John Lennon’s “Imagine,” Tony Orlando and Dawn’s “Tie a Yellow Ribbon” and the Beatles “Let It Be.”
Looking back, I realize that my Beatles phase was about more than just the music. It was a time of self-discovery, a way for me to connect with something larger than myself while navigating the awkward, often confusing years of adolescence. The Beatles’ songs became a soundtrack to my early high school experience, capturing the highs and lows of those formative years. And while I may have outgrown that phase, the impact it had on me remains. Fred’s portrayal, though slightly exaggerated, served as a nostalgic reminder of who I was during that time – a reminder that growth and change are natural, but the memories we make along the way stay with us forever.