Boys
(Dixon, Luther / Farrell, Wes) Performed by The Beatles
I been told when a boy kiss a girl,
Take a trip around the world,
Hey, hey, (bop shuop, m'bop bop shuop)
Hey, hey, (bop shuop, m'bop bop shuop)
Hey, hey, (bop shuop) yeah, she say ya do. (Bop shuop)
My girl says when I kiss her lips,
Gets a thrill through her fingertips,
Hey, hey, (bop shuop, m'bop bop shuop)
Hey, hey, (bop shuop, m'bop bop shuop)
Hey, hey, (bop shuop) yeah, she say ya do. (Bop shuop)
Well, I talk about boys,
Don't ya know I mean boys,
Well, I talk about boys, now,
Aaahhh, boys,
Well, I talk about boys, now,
What a bundle of joy! (Alright, George!)
My girl says when I kiss her lips,
Gets a thrill through her fingertips,
Hey, hey, (bop shuop, m'bop bop shuop)
Hey, hey, (bop shuop, m'bop bop shuop)
Hey, hey, (bop shuop) yeah, she say ya do. (Bop shuop)
Well, I talk about boys,
Don't ya know I mean boys,
Well, I talk about boys, now,
Aaahhh, boys,
Well, I talk about boys, now,
What a bundle of joy! Ah ah boys!
Don't you know I mean boys ooo boys!
Ah ha!
Like I said last week, Ringo was my favourite Beatle and he represents a kind of chicken or the egg dilemma for me: Whenever I was unattached and on the lookout for a new boyfriend, I was much more likely to be attracted to the least good looking guy in a group; more interested in being with the guy who was grateful to be with me; avoiding the guys who would presumably be on the lookout for someone better. And I don't know if this is an innate trait in me -- what caused me to choose Ringo -- or if fangirling after Ringo trained me to be wary of overconfident, front-and-center men like Paul and John. Becoming a preteen Beatles fanatic definitely formed my attitude about "bad boys" too: There's just no contest to me in the Beatles vs Stones debate; even Ringo is better looking than Mick Jagger and none of the Stones can really sing (I do like their 60s stuff but I recently looked through the Stones' discography and I've hated everything they've done since 1972; can't stand the tone of Jagger's voice; who cares if the old geezers are still touring?) As far back as I can remember, I've preferred the cleancut boys who stand out precisely because they don't mind standing in the back. Now, there's nothing shy or "least good looking" about the man I married, but it's unsurprising that Dave has Ringo's brown hair and blue eyes; too bad he spent his teenage years fanboying over the Stones.
I was also talking last week about my childhood friend Cora, and as I said then, she had three older brothers, and in a way, they also helped to form my attitudes towards boys. Cora's parents were from Ireland and they were different enough looking that their household had two distinct bloodlines running through it. From their father, Jamie, Paul and Cora herself got round faces, freckles, and short, solid (by no means fat) bodies -- kind of like Matt Damon. From their mother, Sean and Grainne got long faces with aquiline noses and tall, willowy frames -- kind of like Ben Affleck. By the time Cora and I became friends, Jamie wasn't living at home anymore (and I don't remember spending much time with him at all over the years that I hung out there), but two of her brothers -- a Damon and an Affleck -- were always around.
The Ryans were a very musical family, with both a piano and a foot-pedalled organ in the dining room of their huge old farmhouse, and Sean was always writing and playing songs there. When we were in grade 8, Cora and I were partners for a "creative" history project, and although we had intended to spend the weekend at her house writing songs about the Riel Rebellion, we left it until Sunday afternoon and then began to panic. We begged Sean to help us, but even though he complained that he had his own high school homework to complete, their Mom cajoled him into helping us and he did pretty much the whole thing. Cora and I would read a section of the textbook, give Sean a summary, and he'd write a little song about it, playing accompaniment while we'd record it with our vocals. This took us hours but it was probably the best project that teacher ever received. Sean also wrote a flute duet for me and Cora which was the cornerstone of our performances when we'd go to Irish kitchen parties with their family. Quiet and creative, this was the brother that I had a huge crush on forever. He was sent into Stouffville to pick me up once and it was just me and him driving for quite a while -- I think we were picking up Cora from somewhere even farther away -- and I remember how awkward I felt, looking out the side window, neither of us talking. I was maybe 12, Sean 17, and when he lit up a cigarette I remember thinking, "If he offers me one, I'm totally going to take it, show him that I'm not a little kid." Gawd, am I ever glad he didn't offer me one -- I was a little kid.
I remember one of the first times that I went to their house (grade 5?), Cora, Sean and I were watching a quiz show on TV. For some reason, I knew just about every answer and as I blurted out "1492...NaCl...hypotenuse...", Sean turned and said, "You've seen this before." I replied that I had not, and when he asked Cora if she had been taught those same things, she just shrugged and shook her head. "How do you know all that?" he asked me and I said, "I just do." I was pretty pleased with myself, thinking that Sean would like me now, because that's all I ever wanted. I remember years later that old friends of the Ryans came to visit and everyone was gaga about their daughter who was our age -- Cora showed me pictures that Sean had taken of the girl where he was playing with perspective (like having her stand very far away and posing Cora so that the girl looked like she was on Cora's outstretched palm), and as I thumbed through the prints all I could think was, "Why didn't Sean ever want to take pictures of me?" I remember after that visit Cora's Mom saying how sophisticated that girl was for liking sour cream on her baked potato, and that made me crazy: I wanted people to think that I was sophisticated and that imprinted on my mind for years that sour cream=sophisticated (which I know is a bizarre and useless imprint).
Paul, on the other hand, was closer to our age, and probably because he and Cora shared the same (Matt Damonish) bloodline, they butted heads constantly. Paul wanted to be a boxer when he was in high school and he was always going out for a jog or drinking strange smoothies; always with the vibe that he was doing something important that couldn't be interfered with. He also came into town to pick me up sometimes and there was always a resentful air to it; the difference might be that he was driving his own vehicle, a black Jeep, but I really don't think Paul liked me. I had bangs from grade 7 on and I guess I had a nervous habit of smoothing them down against my forehead with the space between my thumb and index finger, but I didn't know how dorky that must have looked until I caught Paul mockingly doing that gesture behind my back one day. Here's one of the most embarrassing things that I ever did in my life: Paul and two of his friends rented a videodisc player and a couple of movies, and Cora and I (having never seen a rented movie before) wormed our way into the TV room to see the original Star Trek the Motion Picture with them. The guys had bought subs and I must have been staring at them like a homeless dog because one of the friends looked at me and said, "Did you want some?" I was probably supposed to say "No thanks", but I shrugged as though it was no big deal, walked over and took half his sub, and sat back down and ate it. I pretty much immediately understood that other than "No thanks" I might have been permitted a bite, but as this fog of incredulity settled over the room, I just kept eating that sub until it was gone, feeling like a total dork the entire time, having to keep my eyes on Star Trek as though it was fascinating.
As a study in contrasts, Cora's brothers couldn't have been more different, and although they probably both thought that I was a dork, being around the two of them taught me to prefer the quiet, thinking type to the loud and arrogant. As I think about those days now, I'm realising that while I had brothers too, I'm certain that Cora didn't have a crush on either my older one (the embarrassing juvenile delinquent) or my younger (the bratty crybaby), but who knows what lessons they were teaching her about how to choose a mate one day?
Well, I talk about boys,
Don't ya know I mean boys,
Well, I talk about boys, now,
Aaahhh, boys,
Well, I talk about boys, now,
What a bundle of joy!
