It was late afternoon, and James Paul McCartney was coming nyumbani from another fun-filled siku in Liverpool. Today, as usual, had been filled with a lively combination of rock-and-roll and girls, and as he made his way home, there were still two curly-haired girls on his arm, a brunette in a purple dress and a blonde in a green dress. The girls were giggling at everything Paul said, while he was still imba some of the songs he'd played on the jukebox, his gorgeous voice standing out even when he used it casually like this. The girls tried to sing along, but couldn't match him; however, they didn't seem to mind, and just giggled even harder.
All too soon, they reached Paul's house. "Good-bye, loves," he alisema to them, lowering his long eyelashes charmingly. The girls swooned. "Good-bye, Paul," they sang, both leaning in to kiss him. Paul winked at them both and made his way into the house.
Jim McCartney, Paul's father, was pacing the room waiting for him. "Paul? Is that you?"
"Hi, Dad." Paul casually came into the room, his wide eyes the picture of innocence. His dad was looking stern, but Paul pretended not to notice.
Jim had the look of a parent who is about to begin a lecture. "Paul, where have wewe been today?"
"Oh - just out," Paul replied, wide-eyed. "You know, with the girls and the jukebox...."
"Yes, I know," Jim frowned. "That's all you've been doing all summer, hanging round with girls and listening to rock and roll music. When are wewe going to start doing something responsible and think about your life?"
Paul blinked his long lashes, puzzled. "But - but I am thinking about it! I'm gonna play rock and roll when I grow up, and there'll be a lot zaidi girls! I'm just preparing for it."
"No," alisema Jim firmly. "I'm not talking about the future wewe fantasize about while you're playing your guitar, gitaa au imba along to the radio. I'm talking about your real future, the one where wewe grow up and get a job! Where wewe settle down and get married and support your family."
Paul, who wasn't planning to get married before he was 26, shrugged. "Well, rock and roll pays a lot. And birds dig it as well. Is that all?" he added hopefully.
"No, it isn't!" Jim was beginning to get annoyed. "You're not taking this seriously, Paul. You'll be starting high school in another month; you're not a child anymore. It's time for wewe to start thinking about your future, and imagining that you're a rock nyota won't help you!"
Now Paul was beginning to get angry. "I'm not imagining! I really am gonna be one! wewe keep tellin' me to think about me future, and I am! If Little Richard and Elvis can do it, why can't I?"
"Paul." His father sighed. "Not everyone can be like them. It won't be easy to make a living at this. I want wewe to spend your time doing something responsible that will support wewe when wewe grow up, and then if wewe want to spend your free time thinking about rock and roll...."
Paul frowned at his father. "You don't think I can do it!"
"Not many people can, Paul...."
"But I can!" Paul was really upset now; he began gesticulating wildly with his left hand as he spoke. "Haven't wewe heard me playing? I'm really good; with a band I can be as good as the rest of 'em! I'm not gonna fail; I'm gonna play rock and roll and be a really big star, and I don't want to do anything else!"
"Paul!" his father alisema sternly. "You can't just sit around and play your whole life. You're starting high school in a month, and I want wewe to spend that mwezi wisely. I want wewe to get a job!"
"I don't want a job!" cried Paul. "I've been playin' and practicin'! That's what I need to do to play rock and roll."
"Is that what those girls were doing with you, helping wewe practice?"
"Well, I... they... we... I'll have mashabiki someday, and it's good practice for then," Paul finished, eyeing his dad hopefully, as if this explanation would smooth things over.
It didn't. "This is exactly what I've been telling you," Jim alisema sternly. "You're clearly not responsible enough to take charge of your own life, so I see I'm going to have to do it for you. Tomorrow you'll start looking for a job. I want to see you're taking some responsibility for yourself!"
"But I don't need to!" Paul almost shouted. "I've been doing everything I want already, and now you're not lettin' me!"
"That's enough, Paul!" his father alisema firmly. "You should know better than to speak to me in that tone. You're excused to your room until you're ready to be mature about this."
Paul went up to his room, but he didn't go happily. His dad didn't understand at all! Why didn't he think Paul could do it? Why was he trying to take him away from rock and roll?
"I can do it," Paul told himself over and over again, lying facedown on his bed, staring angrily at his pillow. "I can! I can!"
And as he lay there, his anger mixing with his determination to make it big, a thought suddenly came to him. "I will do it! And I won't even wait until I'm grown-up. I'm good enough now!"
Paul sat up, the spark of an idea in his multicoloured eyes. "I won't look for a job tomorrow. I'll run away! The inayofuata time Dad sees me, I'll be a really big rock and roll star. He'll see!"
All too soon, they reached Paul's house. "Good-bye, loves," he alisema to them, lowering his long eyelashes charmingly. The girls swooned. "Good-bye, Paul," they sang, both leaning in to kiss him. Paul winked at them both and made his way into the house.
Jim McCartney, Paul's father, was pacing the room waiting for him. "Paul? Is that you?"
"Hi, Dad." Paul casually came into the room, his wide eyes the picture of innocence. His dad was looking stern, but Paul pretended not to notice.
Jim had the look of a parent who is about to begin a lecture. "Paul, where have wewe been today?"
"Oh - just out," Paul replied, wide-eyed. "You know, with the girls and the jukebox...."
"Yes, I know," Jim frowned. "That's all you've been doing all summer, hanging round with girls and listening to rock and roll music. When are wewe going to start doing something responsible and think about your life?"
Paul blinked his long lashes, puzzled. "But - but I am thinking about it! I'm gonna play rock and roll when I grow up, and there'll be a lot zaidi girls! I'm just preparing for it."
"No," alisema Jim firmly. "I'm not talking about the future wewe fantasize about while you're playing your guitar, gitaa au imba along to the radio. I'm talking about your real future, the one where wewe grow up and get a job! Where wewe settle down and get married and support your family."
Paul, who wasn't planning to get married before he was 26, shrugged. "Well, rock and roll pays a lot. And birds dig it as well. Is that all?" he added hopefully.
"No, it isn't!" Jim was beginning to get annoyed. "You're not taking this seriously, Paul. You'll be starting high school in another month; you're not a child anymore. It's time for wewe to start thinking about your future, and imagining that you're a rock nyota won't help you!"
Now Paul was beginning to get angry. "I'm not imagining! I really am gonna be one! wewe keep tellin' me to think about me future, and I am! If Little Richard and Elvis can do it, why can't I?"
"Paul." His father sighed. "Not everyone can be like them. It won't be easy to make a living at this. I want wewe to spend your time doing something responsible that will support wewe when wewe grow up, and then if wewe want to spend your free time thinking about rock and roll...."
Paul frowned at his father. "You don't think I can do it!"
"Not many people can, Paul...."
"But I can!" Paul was really upset now; he began gesticulating wildly with his left hand as he spoke. "Haven't wewe heard me playing? I'm really good; with a band I can be as good as the rest of 'em! I'm not gonna fail; I'm gonna play rock and roll and be a really big star, and I don't want to do anything else!"
"Paul!" his father alisema sternly. "You can't just sit around and play your whole life. You're starting high school in a month, and I want wewe to spend that mwezi wisely. I want wewe to get a job!"
"I don't want a job!" cried Paul. "I've been playin' and practicin'! That's what I need to do to play rock and roll."
"Is that what those girls were doing with you, helping wewe practice?"
"Well, I... they... we... I'll have mashabiki someday, and it's good practice for then," Paul finished, eyeing his dad hopefully, as if this explanation would smooth things over.
It didn't. "This is exactly what I've been telling you," Jim alisema sternly. "You're clearly not responsible enough to take charge of your own life, so I see I'm going to have to do it for you. Tomorrow you'll start looking for a job. I want to see you're taking some responsibility for yourself!"
"But I don't need to!" Paul almost shouted. "I've been doing everything I want already, and now you're not lettin' me!"
"That's enough, Paul!" his father alisema firmly. "You should know better than to speak to me in that tone. You're excused to your room until you're ready to be mature about this."
Paul went up to his room, but he didn't go happily. His dad didn't understand at all! Why didn't he think Paul could do it? Why was he trying to take him away from rock and roll?
"I can do it," Paul told himself over and over again, lying facedown on his bed, staring angrily at his pillow. "I can! I can!"
And as he lay there, his anger mixing with his determination to make it big, a thought suddenly came to him. "I will do it! And I won't even wait until I'm grown-up. I'm good enough now!"
Paul sat up, the spark of an idea in his multicoloured eyes. "I won't look for a job tomorrow. I'll run away! The inayofuata time Dad sees me, I'll be a really big rock and roll star. He'll see!"