The Teacher

 Authors Note; This is an essay about the first time I had guitar lessons

Whenever you're learning a new instrument it's always hard right? What about being 10 years old and having to play Stairway To Heaven, or Crazy Train? Not an easy task. At my first guitar practice about four years ago. I couldn't even wrap my hands around the guitar neck, or pluck a single string without  bumping the others with my young, plump, small hands. The sound of  the strings clashing still crept through my mind the scratchy, un tuned, noise pierced my ears every time that happened.

My guitar teacher though, was very patient with my mistakes as any other teacher would be. But he didn’t act, or look like a regular teacher from any other school. The first time I met him he was not like I expected, his hair as is long as mine maybe even longer, he was outgoing, loud, full of energy, and had a sailors mouth.


I sat in a brisk, painful chair getting out my heavy,cherry red guitar. His crystal blue eyes scanned my guitar, and he quickly snatched it out of my hands playing long slick scales perfectly. My eyes grew wide watching his fingers moving swiftly up and down the guitar. Could I ever play this good? My guitar teacher stopped playing and looked at my surprised expression, then lightly chuckled handing my guitar back to me. “Sick guitar” he exclaimed, my eyes squinted unsure of what he meant by “Sick.”


I remember clearly that I couldn’t understand anything he was saying to me.  Harmonics, scales, Sharps, Flats, the words that he blurted out swirled through mind.
but it turned out it wasn't so bad. Every week we would find a song to play, and stick with it until I finished the song. After about three months I started to get the hang of guitar I started getting faster, my plucking wasn't  bad, and the songs I picked were harder every time.