By Ann Farabee

Sitting in a chair in the living room with my legs across the chair arm, holding a clipboard with a full pack of notebook paper underneath the clip and an ink pen in my hand, I would settle in for hours doing something I loved — writing.

I was a sixth grader and I was on tour with the Beatles. We traveled throughout England and then to many other places throughout the world. As Paul McCartney’s girlfriend, I had to endure all the other girls trying to vie for his attention, but he belonged to me. I knew the other Beatles personally, since we were on the road together, but Paul was mine. Every evening, Paul would step up to the microphone and begin singing, “Yesterday — all my troubles seemed so far away — now it looks as though they’re here to stay — oh I believe in yesterday.”

I filled 60 full pages of notebook paper of these daydreams, making sure they were written in blue ink, so they could not be erased and would be saved forever.

I would search through magazines to see the locations throughout the world where they were on tour. No, I did not own the magazines, but I would be dropped off downtown, so I could go to the newsstand (which was a small corner store with magazines in it) and stand there reading the magazines. Many of those magazines included pictures and news about the Beatles.

Most days, I would sneak my notebook paper with my Beatles story on it into my notebook, and take it to school with me just in case I had a few minutes during my school day to pull it out and do some more writing. If not, I could write that evening at home, and if not, I could write in my notebook while sneaking a flashlight under the covers with me.

At times, it was a Hard Day’s Night, but it was always worth it.

A couple of years later, I began touring with the Monkees, since I was then the girlfriend of Davy Jones. Then, I met Herman of Herman’s Hermits, who sang a song to my mother. I think the title was, “Mrs. Miles, you have a lovely daughter.”

It seems pretty funny, I guess. Or maybe just stupid, but honestly, it took me through many days of daydreams and much writing, writing and more writing.

I will never forget one day, after I had been in college for a couple of years, that as I was home for the summer, and I decided to clean out my closet. I threw all my writing away.

I now call that a mistake. After that mistake, my memories of them began to fade.

I mean, how many of you went on tour with the Beatles — and the Monkees?

I did. I’m a Believer.

Looking back, memories of those years seem so limited now. And the fact that the Beatles and the Monkees are part of my memories makes me wonder how many records I listened to each day. (If you do not know what a record is, ask your grandparents.)

What fascinates me is that memories become history.

History is made up of memories. Memories are like blankets that keep us warm.

Though we may not remember days — we will remember moments.

For that, I am so thankful.

Ann Farabee is a teacher, writer and speaker. Contact her at annfarabee@gmail.com or annfarabee.com.