Mesa Musings:

Never in my wildest dreams, as I listened to the Beatles sing “I Want to Hold Your Hand” in January 1964, did I imagine that that song would live much beyond spring training at Dodgertown.

Amazingly, nearly 50 years later, it’s still with us.

Though the Lennon/McCartney lyrics are not as ancient as the words of, say, Homer (2,700 years), the Apostle Paul (2,000 years) or William Shakespeare (500 years) — or as fraught with meaning — “I Want to Hold Your Hand” has established a longevity that, candidly, defies understanding.

How has this happened?

My 10-year-old grandson prompted me to examine this matter in some detail when I recently visited him in North Carolina.

In addition to being a fan of Kobe Bryant, anything with a New York Yankees logo on it, and the University of North Carolina Tar Heels, he loves the Fab Four and faithfully listens to their music.

“Grandpa, have you ever heard of the Beatles?” he naively asked earlier this month after my wife, Hedy, and I arrived at his snowy Carolina abode.

“Of course I know the Beatles,” I responded, stifling an impulse toward sarcasm. I mean, they were the band of my youth.

He then inserted a CD into his player, and Hedy and I listened to — and subsequently began to sing along with — “I Want to Hold Your Hand.”

“You mean, you know the words?” he gulped incredulously. Was it so shocking to think that two ancients might actually have some knowledge of a rock group?

“Certainly we know the words,” I replied. “I was 18 when that song came out, and, as a result, I became a Beatles fan. What amazes me is that you know the words!”

The song, which was actually released in the U.S. in December 1963, became the subject of a skit that I participated in as an Orange Coast College drama student in January 1964.

Four of us did a fairly creepy parody of the Lennon/McCartney song and titled it “I Want to Hold Your Foot.”

I think we received a rather generous “B” from our instructor for the effort.

We broke out “air guitars” before such instruments were fashionable.

One of our parody verses went something like: “Yeah you, got that something/I think it’s understut/When I say that something/I want to hold your foot.”

We also managed to work in phraseology about a “chiropodist” (foot doctor).

But, if my grandson is listening to the Beatles five decades after they burst onto the American music scene, will his grandson be listening to Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E or Lady Gaga in 2060?

Will Gaga’s lyric, “Touch me, baby, but don’t mess up my hair,” hold up like Lennon and McCartney’s “And when I touch you I feel happy inside”? I hesitate to speculate. I suppose my great-great grandson will have to answer that one.

More importantly, will Gaga’s “…but don’t mess up my hair” line achieve immortality like Homer’s “I too shall lie in the dust when I am dead, but now let me win noble renown,” or Paul’s “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control,” or Shakespeare’s “This above all: To thine own self be true.”

Though the question is problematic, my prediction for Lady Gaga’s lyric five decades hence is “no guts, no Gaga.” Aside from lacking gravitas, the line seems not in the same league — or cosmos! — with words by Homer, Paul or Will.

Written works seem to gain immortality for one of two reasons: They’re unique or profound. Or, someone unique or profound has uttered them.

“I Want to Hold Your Hand” is unique because of the people who wrote it and what ultimately became of their lives. “To thine own self be true” is profound for what it communicates as well as for who wrote it. “The fruit of the Spirit is love…” is unique and profound because, frankly, Paul communicated unique and profound ideas, and was, himself, a uniquely profound individual.

“Touch me baby…”: unique or profound? Probably neither. By 2060, I’m guessing Lady Gaga’s lyrics will lie in some landfill.

Along with everything I ever wrote.

JIM CARNETT lives in Costa Mesa. His column runs Wednesdays.