Music: My (third) First Guitar

Well, the first one was a ukulele. So I don't think that counts.

It had nylon strings, and a sturdy chocolate brown body. I'd sit on my bed, instrument in my lap, and sing about my day. "Oh, I got up in the morning... and I ate some cereal... and I played outside.... and then we had lunch... and I read a book... and then we ate dinner... and then I went to bed..." I was about five-years old when I wrote my first one-hit-wonder.

The next time it happened I was in college. The cute boys with their guitars roamed the campus, and I knew I wanted one of those. The boys, not the guitars. Then when I came to realize that the 6-string aphrodisiac was just a cover for a whole lot of not-worth-it, I decided I didn't need a boy to make some music with, I could do so myself. How excited was I when my friend presented me with a guitar she found at a yard sale, for only $10! Who cared if it was warped and out of tune--it had a hummingbird on it!

I took the guitar home during Christmas break and locked myself in my room and began the process of morphing into a rock star. But you see, it turns out, an out-of-tune guitar doesn't actually sound that good, even to someone as tone-deaf as me. And my friends couldn't tune it for me, because, as it turns out, a warped guitar can't exactly be tuned.

So, the pursuit was abandoned. Hummingbird and all.

Now it's nearly another ten years later. The dream has not deferred. There is still a rock star hidden in me, waiting to get out. Or if not a rock star, then at least a poetic long-haired coffee shop open mic type of girl.

Last Christmas I was given an American Express Check as a bonus. I've been carrying it around with me for a year, waiting until I found that extra something special to spend it out. Yes, one whole year.

On my way home from work everyday, I pass a guitar store. I stare into the windows as I drive by, dreaming about how nice it would be to try again, just one more time. Today I was having a particularly good day, and when I drove by the store, I thought, "That's it! I'm getting one!"

I turned the car around, drove back, and walked in. "What can you give me for $100?" I asked the guy. "I've never taken a lesson in my life."

He handed me a Fender Squire guitar. It wasn't blue. It didn't have a hummingbird painted on it. There was no glittery strap to drape around my shoulders. It was just... a guitar.

"That's the one," I said to the guy. He asked, "Don't you want to try it out first?" I had no idea how to "try out" a guitar, so I ran my fingers once over of the strings. "Sounds good!" I said. "I'll take it."

And then, to prove my commitment, I signed up for lessons. And this evening I had my first guitar lesson, with my brand new guitar. Actually, it was my first music lesson. Ever. I sat on a bench in the back room of the music store with my new teacher. And we started from the beginning. All the way from the beginning. I learned two new chords (now I have 5 in my repertoire) and an actual scale. I bought an electric "tuner" so I can keep the guitar in tune this time. And I got homework for next week. Which, I'm proud to say, I've already started.

As I lay in bed tonight, with my fingertips already burning, I'll remember my new mantra.
E-G-B-D-F: Every Guitarist Begins Doing Fine.