I had recently
purchased my first
heavy metal album (after getting over my
Michael Jackson stage and before going through my
Death Metal stage), all the while in that dreamy, hopeful state that many an adolescent has gone through at one time or other. I admired the
music I listened to and I wanted to be able to produce it myself. To this end, I saved up money for two years in order to purchase a
guitar
I was
ecstatic when I finally became the
proud owner of a
brand-spanking-new Lyon series
Washburn guitar and a cheap
Fender amp. The only
problem was that there really wasn't
anyone in the
God-forsaken town I grew up in who could really
teach me how to
play.
I got one
friend to teach me how to play
The Eagles'
Hotel California and then someone else taught me all the basic
major and minor chords. However, after
memorizing a couple more
songs, I decided I needed to
move on and take some real
lessons.
I was
lucky and was eventually introduced to someone who actually had a
degree from some
music school or other and
agreed to teach me how to play. There was a
catch, of course: he lived an hour away from where I lived... the things we'll do sometimes to
pursue our dreams.
You may or may not be
sad (I know my
parents and
neighbors probably weren't) to know that eventually, resigned to the fact that some dreams are unattainable, I quit my
lessons. That
guitar now spends most of its time sitting
in my closet gathering dust, replaced in my life by
a box full of silicon. Maybe I'll pull it out now and
relive some memories... my current neighbors won't mind at all, I'm
certain...