My wife's retarded Uncle Lonnie is going to be 64 this year (Will you still love him? Will you still need him?), and as you may or may not know, he is a Beatlemaniac. There's something about their music that triggers a flurry of emotions in him that is hard to convey if not seen firsthand. He generally doesn't speak, and if he does it's to tell you to, "Fuck your shit." But when a Beatles song comes on he lights up and sings and dances to every line. Seeing the excitement he gets from the Beatles, the family has taken it upon themselves to get Lonnie all things Beatles: books, posters, t-shirts, records, etc. His room is a dog-eared museum to the Fab Four.I'm not really sure how it all began. For starters, Lonnie was born in 1947, most likely a product of post-war celebratory sex. He was 15 years old in 1962 when they released their debut single, "Love me Do," and 17 when they first came to America in '64. Granted, that's an influential time in most teenagers' lives, but Lonnie isn't most teenagers. One thing to note is Lonnie was not born mentally retarded. At a very young age he came down with a terribly high fever and as a result sustained permanent brain damage. He also suffers from a sort of arrested development. If you asked him how old he is he will tell you he's either four or seven years old; that would mentally lock him in at nearly a decade before the Beatles popularity.Whatever it is about their music that makes him swell up with joy doesn't matter, the fact is that Lonnie loves the Beatles. And I love Lonnie. I envy his life of walking around in diapers, cursing at people, and singing without a care in the world. I also like when he hugs me because he doesn't know his own strength and I can feel my ribs and spine compressing.As I mentioned, Lonnie is getting up in age. So is Paul McCartney (he just turned 69). I knew this recent stop at Yankee Stadium would be the last time in Lonnie's lifetime that he'd get the chance to see McCartney live, and so as my fifth anniversary gift to my wife, we went to see Lonnie sing Beatles songs for two hours in the Bronx.
Lonnie never wants to go anywhere. Unless there is food involved. Lonnie doesn't skip meals. Ever. Generally, if you ask Lonnie to go camping or to the store or for a ride he'll tell you he can't because he's sick or his foot hurts. If you force him to go he will complain the entire time. He'll even make himself cry, real tears, because he's so "sick." He has never once looked forward to any outing.Until we gave him the tickets and explained who he was going to see. Every day from July 1st to July 15th he'd ask my mother-in-law or my wife if, "We'll see Paul tomorrow? TOMORROW?"
At night Lonnie hosts what we call his talk show in his room until the wee wee hours of the morning. When Lonnie is alone he has conversations with himself, sometimes doing up to six different voices. It's pretty intense to listen to. I've watched him do it once through a window and it's loco. He's so animated—not the Lonnie we see on a daily basis. I often joke that perhaps Lonnie is faking, that he really has no mental issues at all, that he figured out a way at a very young age to avoid getting a job and to have people wait on him hand and foot. And if that is the case, well, I envy him even more.The day of the show my mother-in-law came over and did one of those pregnant plaster belly casts of my wife's stomach. I ordered pizza for everyone. Lonnie wouldn't eat. He only wanted to go to the show. "Go see Paul now?" he asked.Before the show we ate at an Italian restaurant near the stadium. Lonnie repeatedly told us he wasn't hungry. We've never heard those words come out of his mouth. This man eats shrimp unpeeled. We've had to take chicken bones away from him because he's bitten through them and was going to swallow them. He shows no mercy to any cuisine and yet there he was, not eating, but quietly, eagerly awaiting Paul.When we finally told him it was time, he barreled out of the restaurant. He plowed into a woman, nearly knocking her down. My wife had to apologize and explain Lonnie was awesome.I'm surprised we didn't get shot in the Bronx that night. Lonnie barreled through crowds on the street and in the stadium like he was a running back in a mosh pit. People just bounced off him. All we could do was smile and apologize.
Neither my mother-in-law nor my Lonnie had ever been to a real concert. It was sensory overload. My mother-in-law kept asking, "What's that smell?" (It was pot.) Lonnie's head was about to snap off his neck from frantically looking at all the people. When Paul took the stage I was worried he was going to dive off the second level to the stage below.
I half-joked two weeks ago that I wanted my wife to go into labor at the concert so Paul would deliver the baby and we could name him Ringo. The truth is, I was just hoping Lonnie would have the chance to meet McCartney. I imagine he'd giggle and blush and then hide behind me.I'd wager no one in the stadium had as good a time as Lonnie. He cried, real tears, for "Yesterday" and any other slow songs, he did crazy dances for the up-tempo hits, and he sang every word of every song. On the ride home he wouldn't stop laughing and talking to himself. I was told that night his talk show went from 2 AM when I dropped him off until 2 PM the next afternoon when he finally collapsed from exhaustion.And my gentle giant has been walking on clouds ever since."Magical Mystery Tour"CHRIS NIERATKOFor more stupid go to Chrisnieratko.com or NJSkateshop.com
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Lonnie never wants to go anywhere. Unless there is food involved. Lonnie doesn't skip meals. Ever. Generally, if you ask Lonnie to go camping or to the store or for a ride he'll tell you he can't because he's sick or his foot hurts. If you force him to go he will complain the entire time. He'll even make himself cry, real tears, because he's so "sick." He has never once looked forward to any outing.
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