Every morning started the same way in the Lennon-Ono house. Not with silence, not with birdsong — but with The Beatles. Loud. Intentionally loud.
John blinked awake to the sound of a familiar guitar riff echoing through the hall.
“She’s doing it again,” he muttered, squinting at the ceiling as “A Hard Day’s Night” blared through the walls.
Yoko, still curled beneath the blankets beside him, didn’t move right away. “Is it that loud,” she asked calmly, “or are we just that old?”
John rolled onto his side and groaned. “It’s that loud.”
From the hallway came the unmistakable sound of someone singing — off-key, enthusiastically — over Paul’s vocals. Their daughter.
Yoko cracked one eye open and gave a soft laugh. “She’s using you to wake you up.”
John sat up in bed, ruffling his hair, which now stood up like some kind of confused halo. “She’s weaponizing the Beatles. And she’s not even subtle about it.”
Yoko reached for her robe. “She loves those songs. Let her have her moment.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” John said, standing, “if she didn’t do it every morning.”
“You wrote them.”
“I did, but I didn’t write them to be used as a wake-up call for her ageing rockstar father.”
Now it was “Help!”— a particularly pointed choice, John thought.
He shuffled to the door and peeked out. There she was, standing on the couch, arms wide open like she was addressing a crowd at Shea Stadium, singing into a wooden spoon.
“Good morning, Daddy!” she shouted over the music.
John raised a brow. “Bit dramatic, aren’t we?”
“It’s part of the experience!” she yelled. “I curate the playlist with love and intention.”
Yoko appeared beside him, sipping tea she’d somehow already made. “She says it’s important that we ‘start the day in our legacy.’”
John snorted. “Our legacy needs a volume knob.”
Yoko turned to him. “You know, she said she does this because she doesn’t want us to ever forget who we are.”
John looked at his daughter now pretending to drum along to Ringo’s solo with two pencils. “How could I forget,” he said softly.
They watched for a moment, the chaos unfolding like clockwork.
“She’s a little mad, you know.”
Yoko smiled. “So are we.”
The track changed again — this time to “All You Need Is Love.”
John sighed, leaning his head back against the doorframe. “She’s doing the sentimental set today.”
“Should we join her?”
“She’ll drag us in whether we like it or not.”
Sure enough, their daughter turned, spoon still in hand, and shouted, “Alright, Mum and Dad, harmony time!”
John grinned. “She’s relentless.”
“She’s yours.”
He nodded. “And she plays us better than any DJ on earth.”
Together, they stepped into the hallway — two living legends, blurry-eyed and barefoot, singing along with the girl who knew exactly how to bring the past into the present. Every morning. You jump up and down the happiest you've ever been