Daddy, Please Come Home

Growing up, John Lennon and The Beatles always seemed to be playing in my house. I grew up in the 70’s. My parents had each and every album. They were played often and they were played loud. I first heard the word ‘fuck’ when my mother neglected to turn down the volume as John screamed that filthy, forbidden word. I was scandalized and thrilled. I sang Yellow Submarine at my kindergarten musical. I thought Lovely Rita, Meter Maid was about my godfather’s wife. I discovered the depth and emotion of John’s lyrics right around the time that my own tumultuous adolescent emotions burst forth. Right around the time that I gave in to the darkness that would over-shadow my life on and off right up to the present day.

I remember my father playing this song when I was small. I thought it was awful that John would scream so publicly about his mother. Later, as I grew older and my emotions were raw, I came to understand this song. At least, I understood what it meant to me.

I haven’t listened to this song for many years. Gone are the days when I would play it and allow my feelings of abandonment and anger drag me under. Though, I heard it today and relived my old pain for just a moment. I felt sorrow for the girl who was left so alone to face her demons. Mostly, I missed John.