There is something that happens when you visit the childhood home of someone you have admired for most of your life.

You don't just see a house. You begin to imagine the person who lived there...their childhood, their dreams, their struggles, and the moments that helped shape who they would eventually become.

I was 12 years old when the Beatles exploded onto the American music scene. It was an extraordinary time to be an adolescent musician. The Beatles' influence wasn't lost on me. I played guitar, and like millions of other young musicians, I wanted to understand how these four young men from Liverpool had somehow changed music and the world.

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So, when Barb, her sister and I recently toured the childhood homes of John Lennon and Paul McCartney in Liverpool, I wasn't sure what to expect.

The idea actually came from my sister-in-law Nancy, Barb's sister, who is a serious Beatles superfan. Our travel friends Gary and Lucy enthusiastically seconded the idea.

I have to admit, I was only mildly interested.

After all, I had been immersed in Beatlemania since I was a preteen. I already knew quite a bit about John, Paul, George and Ringo. I wasn't sure what a tour of their childhood homes could possibly add.

I was about to find out.

 

Our first stop was John's childhood home, Mendips, the modest but comfortable middle-class house where he was raised by his Aunt Mimi and Uncle George.

I had always carried a particular image of John's childhood in my mind. I thought his mother, Julia, had essentially abandoned him and that Mimi had raised him because John had been given away.

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I was wrong. Very wrong.

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John's parents, Julia and Alfred Lennon, separated when he was young. His father, a merchant seaman, was frequently away and eventually largely disappeared from John's life.

John went to live with Aunt Mimi and Uncle George because the family (and the authorities) believed they could provide him with a more stable home.

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But Julia never disappeared from John's life.

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She continued to visit him, and as John grew older, their relationship became increasingly important to him. She was also the person who encouraged his musical interests and introduced him to the rock 'n' roll music that would help ignite his imagination.

Standing inside Mendips, suddenly all of that history felt very different.

We were looking at the rooms where John ate, slept, dreamed and began imagining the life he wanted.

There was the little kitchen and the small dining room where John would sit and eat one of his favorite snacks: chips (french fries) and tea.

And then there was John's bedroom.

It was as small as expected. A small room. A small bed.

And yet, lying in that bed was a boy who would eventually become one of the most influential songwriters in the history of popular music.

You can't help but wonder what went through his mind in that little room.

Did he dream of being famous?

Did he imagine standing on a stage in front of thousands of people?

Could he possibly have imagined that one day people from all over the world would travel to Liverpool just to stand in the room where he grew up?

Probably not.

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Paul McCartney's childhood home was just a little more substantial, but it was still a modest working-class home.

Again, there was a small kitchen and a small bedroom.

But there was something different about the living room.

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There was a piano.

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Standing there, I could almost picture a young Paul sitting at that piano, experimenting with melodies and chords, unknowingly planting the seeds of a musical catalog that would eventually be worth millions and make him one of the most famous musicians on Earth.

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And then I saw the guitar.

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It was covered with signatures.

Not just ordinary signatures.

Paul Simon. Bruce Springsteen. Jon Bon Jovi.

Names belonging to some of the biggest legends in popular music.

Our guide explained that anyone who actually played the guitar earned the right to sign it.

I didn't need to hear the rest.

I was in.

I had been playing guitar since junior high. I played in rock bands and started getting paid for weekly gigs when I was 16. I continued playing professionally for about ten years.

So the opportunity to pick up that guitar was irresistible.

I sat down in Paul McCartney's childhood living room and played the opening of "Blackbird."

Then I signed my name on the headstock (the part of the guitar where the strings are tightened) right alongside those legendary musicians.

For the rest of the day, I kept trying to wrap my head around what had just happened.

I was sitting in Paul McCartney's boyhood living room, playing a guitar signed by some of the greatest names in music.

A tour I had joined somewhat reluctantly had suddenly become one of the most memorable experiences of our entire trip.

It is a moment I will always treasure.

 

As remarkable as playing that guitar was, the most powerful part of the tour had nothing to do with guitars, fame or Beatlemania.

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It was the story behind John Lennon's "In My Life."

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I have always loved that song.

To me, it was a beautiful reflection on memories of places, people and moments from the past that remain with us long after they are gone.

But I had never understood just how personal the song could be.

John's mother, Julia, was tragically killed when she was struck by a car near the bus stop on Menlove Avenue.

Years later, when John was attending art school, he had to catch the bus at that same location.

Think about that.

Every day, John had to return to the place where his mother had died.

One day, while riding that bus to art school, he began writing "In My Life."

Suddenly, the song meant something entirely different to me.

It wasn't simply a songwriter looking back nostalgically on the places and people he remembered.

It was a young man carrying memories and grief that would remain with him for the rest of his life.

I don't think I'll ever hear "In My Life" quite the same way again.

I still get a little teary thinking about it.

 

That's the surprising thing about visiting these houses.

We went because of the Beatles.

We left thinking about John and Paul the boys, long before they became John Lennon and Paul McCartney.

We saw the rooms where they grew up. We stood where they sat. We saw the ordinary surroundings of two very ordinary Liverpool boys who would go on to accomplish something extraordinary.

And somewhere between the little kitchens, the small bedrooms, the piano and that unforgettable guitar, I realized something:

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The Beatles didn't begin in a recording studio.

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They began in homes like these with two young boys, a few instruments, big imaginations and dreams that were probably far larger than anyone around them could have imagined.

And for this old former guitar player who was 12 years old when Beatlemania first crossed the Atlantic, standing inside those homes was much more than a sightseeing stop.

It was a little like walking back into my own youth.

And that is something I never expected from a Beatles tour.