There was a time when I hated George Harrison. That’s a tough thing to say, as the feeling creates such bittersweet memories in the wake of the ex-Beatle’s death Thursday. But such feelings created a vise-like connection that could survive the mourning, death and profound sense of loss & all things clearly indicated by an outpouring of sympathy and remembrance over the weekend.

My case might be the same as yours, as one turned on to the Beatles just in time to provide a soundtrack to adolescence. Later I would learn that my favorite record as a child was “The Chipmunks Sing The Beatles’ Hits.” I like to think it was fate. Maybe George would agree.

But back to the hatred. Santa Claus had delivered on a promise of musical mind expansion and, well, music collection expansion. My first CDs were “Magical Mystery Tour” and “Revolver.” And through scarily repeated listenings to the latter, my excitement grew. “Eleanor Rigby” complemented “I’m Only Sleeping” oh so well and created that personal Beatlemania that makes the whole phenomenon so timeless.

And then … “Love You To”?

Does it make sense? Is there a misspelling? If not, love you to what? More importantly, what happened to my Beatles and their pop magic? A quick perusal of the liner notes said a Harrison was to blame, and it’s hard to argue with those holy tomes.

In later years, the knowledge that the Eastern-influenced song helped freak out mothers looking for another “Love Me Do” did allow for a little chuckle. But a wry smile can’t prevent skipping a song on one of the best albums of all time.

Future purchases helped illustrate just how thin the line was between love and hate. My tarnished jewel was filed next to “The White Album” and “Abbey Road.” And if anything could help alleviate pain, one would think “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” could be the antidote and the aspirin. Alas, his later and more contemplative works provided cornerstones when even John Lennon and Paul McCartney failed. Something had to get “Martha, My Dear” out of the head, and fast.

True acceptance came in one of those ironic realizations that marked the Beatles’ movies (“A Hard Day’s Night” and “Help”) with a wink and a nudge. The family piled into the minivan for another road trip and my little (at the time) brother would cry out for “the Monkeyman song.” My dad knew the code, and obliged.

We listened to the song and the rest of the cassette probably 100 times and at least once a week. Those liner notes stated that our song was “Tweeter and the Monkeyman,” highlighted by Bob Dylan’s sordid tale of no-good crooks sung in Dylan-ease.

“And the walls came down, all the way to hell,” (this is when our virgin ears made us gasp at the bad word). “Never saw them when they standing, never saw them when they fell.”

The walls truly came down when my dad listed just who sung this classic chorus. The Traveling Wilburys were a who’s who for even the non-devoted rock fan: Tom Petty, Jeff Lynne, Roy Orbison, Dylan and … one George Harrison.

The floodgates for forgiveness have been open ever since.

Now, through countless readings and listens, a listen to “Love You To” is a groundbreaking dalliance into much more substantive fare put to record just a few years later. The seldom-heard B-side “The Inner Light” fully realizes Harrison’s sitar-laden dreams and provides for a million listener dreams. And a closer look allowed for properly realized smirks caused by “The Quiet Beatle,” such as his classic appearance on “Saturday Night Live” when he tried to take up Lorne Michaels’ offer to unite the Beatles for $3,000.

I’d pay much more now just to tell him I’m sorry. Instead, I put on the Wilburys’ “Heading for the Light” and know it’s true.