Thursday, January 29, 2009
It is approximately 36 years old.
Now here is the story:
When I was 9 we moved from Massachusetts to Missouri. The move was tough on all of us, and only became worse when I was placed in a classroom with a teacher who had no business teaching. She was a screamer, an insulter, a threatener, and to add to that, I now understand that she was dying. It was absolutely the worst year of school for me.
That year guitar lessons were being offered after school, and my parents signed me up. I was given the use of my aunt's guitar and that was a problem for me. The guitar was OLD. It didn't look like anyone else's in the class and I was completely embarrassed. My wonderful parents eventually saved and bought me a brand new guitar that I loved. It was beautiful. It smelled wonderful and I spent hours holding it.
But the guitar was just a little too big for me, my fine motor skills were a little too weak, and the lessons weren't taught by the most effective guitar teacher. I made very little playing progress and I was relieved when the lessons ended and the guitar was put away for good.
But I never sold that guitar and it moved with me to Kentucky and around and about until it came to live in my current house.
A couple of weeks ago, in a rare cleaning frenzy, I pulled the guitar out, determined to donate it to the Salvation Army. But I was overcome by guilt. I thought of that horrible year and how the teacher had proclaimed me a frustration, an embarrassment, and a failure. I thought of my parents working hard as a teacher and a pastor to save their small pay to buy a guitar I wouldn't be ashamed of. I thought of all I've managed to accomplish with the Lord's grace.
And I picked up a chord chart. I picked up that guitar. I tuned it. And I began to play.
Joe Satriani I'm not, but I do know a handful of songs now and there's no more looking back.
Thanks, Mom and Dad, for my guitar!