“Mommy, why did John’s hair get weird and his nose get bigger?”
“I think maybe he just grew his hair long and it made his nose look bigger,” I called back from my post over the kitchen sink.
“It looks like he got bad skin. Why did he get bad skin?” Nick continued from the couch as he flipped through the Beatles coffee table book he checked out from the library days before.
“I don’t know. It’s probably from drugs and not taking care of himself,” I grabbed my rubber gloves from under the sink and prepared for the scrubbing of the skillet.
Then, from Vince: “That’s why George and John died first; they didn’t take care of themselves.” While not the mega-fan Nick is, Vince had to lay down his own Beatles knowledge.
“Well, actually no,” I paused briefly to wonder to myself why I had chosen to re-insert myself into this relentless questioning. I mean delightful, post-dinner conversation with the true lights of my life: my young sons.
“John got shot and George got cancer,” I continued.
“Yeah, Vince.” Nick was quite pleased that his brother had been corrected. "I knew that."
Yes, I believe that discussion took place on Christmas. This, now months-long Beatles obsession of Nick's seems to somehow be gaining momentum.
I rinsed the skillet and leaned it against the drying rack and turned to the other side of the sink to assess the remaining damages, then:
“Mommy, who’s older Paul or Ringo?”
“I don’t know, Nick. Ringo looks older but Paul looks like he’s had work done.”
“What do you mean ‘work done’?”
What are you doing? One word answers. Make up shit. Lie. It’s the freakin’ Beatles and they’re 8. It will pass. It doesn’t matter.
I sighed an audible sigh of annoyance, “I… just… it’s… to make him look younger. You can have surgery and do stuff to make your face look younger.”
“Well, it worked,” Nick responded, enthusiastically, somehow oblivious to my mounting frustration. “He almost looks exactly the same. Mommy, come look at this.”
“Honey. I am doing the dishes.” I hadn’t yet raised my voice but my tone was one of complete annoyance.
“Vince, look at this.” Nick didn’t break stride, motioning for his brother to join him on the couch, then:
“Mommy, are Paul and Ringo still friends?”
You have got to be kidding me!
“I don’t know. I don’t know, honey. I don’t know! I don’t know every single thing about the Beatles. Google it on your iPad!”
“I’m on technology restriction.”
< INSERT FIFTY YEARS FEATURING ROCK 'N' ROLL LIVING HERE >
Dear Paul McCartney’s Plastic Surgeon,
Nick and Vince Pieri