My Guitar

I have always said that there no possessions that I would really miss if I ever lost them--except my guitar.

The loss of the sum total of all my childhood mementos would probably be an emotional hit, but I wouldn't fret so much over the loss of too many individual items--except maybe my world class newborn photo. Being out on the streets, cold and penniless would be very bad, but I don't have to be in that house, those clothes or that furniture.

From the moment I first played it I knew. I just knew. It was the most magical sound. I loved playing it just to hear that sound. I could just sit there and strum the same chord over and over just to hear that sound. However, I didn't expect, or even want that guitar be "the one."

It arrived on Christmas morning sometime during college, maybe I was 20 or 21. Out from nowhere my mom and dad brought out a new Yamaha acoustic guitar. They said they shopped around quite a bit and had a salesman try out numerous models while they sat and listened. Knowing them, they probably gave that salesman quite a workout! They said it wasn't even expensive, but they liked the sound.

I met that salesman later, a big black guy who told me, "you know, your parents really love you."

I had been putting off buying a guitar for some time. The only guitar I had was a $5 garage sale special that Andy dropped off one day. It was dusty and clunky, couldn't make a sound beyond the 7th fret, and it had a strange smell. It was a good starter guitar, though, I learned on it and once it served its purpose I handed it off to the next generation, the brother of a previous girlfriend--perhaps it is somewhere in western Pennsylvania right now or maybe Minnesota. Buying my own guitar was an intimidating process--I wanted it to be just right, and it was such an agonizing process that I just kept putting it off.

I had some expectations for the guitar--it just had to have a knob to attach the strap around the drum. I didn't want to tie it around the neck. I didn't like how that looked and thought it would be awkward to play or damaging to the guitar.

My parents were more than happy to exchange it and go shopping with me for another. They just wanted something for me to open on Christmas morning. I always feel guilty when they make a large purchase like this, and even more so I felt it was wasted effort because I know how picky I am about the sound of a guitar. I felt it was silly for them to be spending to much time and energy on a near-impossible mission. On top of that, when I opened it up and saw that it didn't have a knob for a strap, I immediately ruled it out. "Ah, this one will have to be thrown back for sure," I said to myself. They are pretty comfortable with just having fun shopping without expectations and don't see making exchanges as being negative, but still I didn't want to hurt their feelings.

Then I played it.

I couldn't believe that sound. It was just magic.

Later, I have come to understand that the sound of that guitar has color. That seems to be rare in guitars, especially acoustic. I think that many guitar players even prefer it that way with a plain, grey, almost harsh sound. I'm not talking about a superficial, flashy sound, but rather a color with depth. That is rare. Other folks who have played it have also remarked that there is something special about that guitar, a real good sound.

I also learned that tying a strap around the neck isn't such a bad thing at all, and I got used to it. It might not be the best for the wood of the guitar, but it wasn't a really big issue at all.

That guitar and I went everywhere. I took it to the inner cities and mountains on mission trips. I stayed up endless nights playing it, sleeping beside it. I played it in churches, in basements, for friends and family, on hot afternoons and gentle nights. It is soaked in my sweat from nervous performances and as I vented every emotion you can think of alone in my basement. To this day, it is sprinkled in my blood. I know it is cliche, but truth be told I literally would play until my knuckles bled and there are still splattered droplets on the inside of the drum. It is covered with paint marks on the outside as I would often clumsily bump into walls, "like a goofy dog with a big ole tail" as Leah recently told me.

In many ways, the sound of a guitar improves with playing. Every reverberation goes through the wood and leaves a trace of itself. There is something fuller and richer about the sound of a guitar that has been played over and over for years. You just can't buy that, it must be earned. The sound of the wood deepens and you can hear the echoes of every song that has come before. It is like the difference between a well worn favorite pair of pants compared to something new and stiff from the store. The good news is that I liked the sound of this guitar in all its phases--from the newness of Day 1 to the depth as it got played more and more.

I originally bought a deep blue Tye-dye guitar strap at Woodsy's, thinking it would be the perfect accompaniment to my blue paisley electric guitar--but together they clashed, what do I know about putting colors together? It was, however, a perfect fit for my wood acoustic.

I didn't always treat that guitar the best, and it has periodically lost some of the quality of its sound and has needed adjustments. But that was part of the magic of this guitar--I didn't baby it. It was appropriate for either top-notch performances or campfires. It could be banged around and played with every emotional expression--bent and twisted, wrenching every note out of it, or softly strummed in the gentle quiet late at night. It wasn't the kind of guitar to be left on a shelf and admired from a distance or played with white gloves. This one could go the distance, wherever I was or whatever I was going through.

I wrote hundreds of songs on that guitar, in fits of euphoria and utterly gut wrenching, sobbing expressions. It was there through it all. I purged every emotion on that guitar--good, bad and everything in between. I've even been bored with that guitar and sometimes wouldn't play it for months--and even that was important as this was a very full and authentic relationship that ran the gamut of emotions.

It wasn't a showy piece, it was a tried-and-true, every day and special day guitar. For a brief moment I had a flirtation with some Larivees--their sound was charismatic and catchy, but after a while I realized they were too strong for me. My ear would get tired of their flashiness. My guitar didn't have a dull sound, either. It was just right. It was like a favorite cassette tape that you could listen to for hours and hours, days and weeks and years, and never grow tired of it.

For a guitar with this history, it may be sad to know that it didn't go out with a bang. I simply left it on the trunk of my car while dumping recyclables and didn't remember to put it back in as I drove away. A man told me he saw it fall off my car and saw someone push it to the curb, but when I went back to that area it was long gone. I've been to some pawn shops, had some signs up, but no trace of it. My parents have the model number but not the serial number (the latter pawn shops can trace).

Since then, I've had all sorts of offers and gifts of guitars. Our neighbor Jean gave me her 30-year old nylon stringed guitar. The case was mildewy but the guitar sounds just fine. Leah from the church told me I could "borrow indefinitely" her like-new Fender acoustic. It has beautiful wood and a strong, clear and warm sound. Mary from the church also offered her classical guitar. Like before, I don't look forward to making a purchase, but I feel that will come in time.

Guitar: I wish you well! I hope you find your way to the hands of someone who will cherish you as much as I have. I hope you don't end up abandoned in a closet. I've been all around, I've heard lots of guitars, but I've never heard any one quite like you. I can choose to be sad, and I am, but I can also choose to take this moment to celebrate a really wonderful relationship I have had with a really wonderful instrument!

Thanks for many good years and many, many good memories!