My Favorite Christmas Present
For all my bravado, in actuality, I'm really not that great a guitarist. Sure, I'm competently reliable and if you need a guy on rhythm or just to handle some relatively simple riffs, I have that covered but I play my power chords weird and I have trouble remembering my blues scales. I play fast, dirty, and loud but I'm kind of sloppy. I started playing guitar when I was fifteen, my first six-string being a present from my mother on my first Christmas in high school. It was honestly a present I never thought that I'd get.
I feel like every kid that learns how to play an instrument either starts out on the piano or with the violin; I was in the former camp. As they were getting up in their years, my grandparents were looking to relocate to a smaller flat from the large family home in Falls Church and wanted to get rid of their old 1916 upright piano while keeping it in the family. Neither of my parents were particularly musical people (though my mother loved to sing) which I think they both regretted and I think the instrument they both wanted to learn how to play the most was the piano for some reason. So with that in mind, they leapt at the opportunity and had it installed in our basement right across from the family computer. This was right around third grade for me which is when elementary school started to feel a little more serious, I started wearing glasses, and joined the Cub Scouts. Add piano lessons on to the pile in addition to swimming in local summer leagues and studying martial arts and my young dance card was starting to fill up.
And I enjoyed playing piano and still largely do, I mainly stuck to Beethoven and Scott Joplin in those days but there was just something missing, something that kept me from just sticking to the 88 black and whites exclusively. I think my mom noticed that after a couple years of playing, I had kind of stagnated in ability; my heart wasn't all that into it at the time. A big part of that was the bands I was listening to were changing radically. Sure, The Beatles and The Doors used the keyboards (The keyboards were the best part of The Doors' sound) but all the bands I was getting into in middle school didn't at least not regularly. I had admired the guitar sound for awhile, it just looked so slick and fucking cool. When you're moving and dancing on stage with a guitar, it looks like the best dance partner you could ever hope for. When people dance while behind keyboards at concerts, it just looks awkward as hell. Ever been to a show where the guy on keys is the most emotive person on stage? Always sticks out like a sore thumb.
As much as my made my guitar ambitions known, my mom was worried it was just a passing phase, a fleeting waste of time and resources. She had grown up mainly fending for herself in the post-Korean War streets of Seoul and was very aware of unnecessary excess. With that in mind, I figured I'd just have to scrap together funding on my own and buy the cheapest guitar I could find and settle for that.
What I didn't know is that my mom had been talking to my old piano teacher and the small music shop just a short walk from where she worked about getting me a guitar for months. My teacher knew I wanted to play guitar and the local music shop had a backlog of old acoustics they were trying to offload; the timing was perfect.
Now by the end of elementary school, I knew my parents kept all the Christmas presents they intended to give me and my sister in a large shopping bag in the guest room closet; the presents themselves wouldn't be wrapped until the night before. I would never sit down and rummage through the entire bag...but it never hurt to take a peek if there were larger presents, did it? Christmas Season 2001 was no different and it looked like the usual CDs, DVDs, and clothes this year too.
Christmas morning, we tore through the presents as per tradition and kind of basked in the afterglow of it all. As I started to gather up the discarded wrapping paper for the trash, my mom motioned me over.
"I didn't know how to wrap this last one without giving it away but I want you to check the living room closest." she whispered.
Confused, I sauntered over and opened the closest to find an old SilverTone six-string tucked behind all the winter coats. The frets were big and the strings cut into my then-uncallused fingers when I pressed them down but the sound was deep and sonorous. I turned around to find my mom smiling warmly at me.
"I...thank you...I don't know what to say, Mom...this is incredible." I stammered while alternating between looking at my mother and admiring the guitar up and down. She rose from the couch and quietly walked forward.
"Just promise me that you'll take this seriously. I know you've wanted this for awhile but I want it to mean something." my mom said matter of factly, our matching honey-brown eyes meeting as she looked up at me (I had been noticeably taller than my mother since around the fourth grade). "Do this right, Sam."
I hoisted the guitar up, straightened my posture, and looked right back with a bit of that old smug confidence creeping back in.
"I promise." I smiled wistfully. "Thanks again." And we awkwardly went for the hug with a guitar in my hands. It would be the last major Christmas present I would get from her.
Within a couple years, I was playing in the high school guitar ensemble. I branched into learning how to play the bass and picked up my own custom Stratocaster. I was never the top of the class but that wasn't really the goal. Music has always been my go-to outlet pouring everything I've got into it.
I still have that old SilverTone (and that old upright piano!). Always had trouble with the action and I should probably replace the neck but I worry that if I Frankenstein too much of it, it just won't be the same guitar. And I'll never let that go.
I feel like every kid that learns how to play an instrument either starts out on the piano or with the violin; I was in the former camp. As they were getting up in their years, my grandparents were looking to relocate to a smaller flat from the large family home in Falls Church and wanted to get rid of their old 1916 upright piano while keeping it in the family. Neither of my parents were particularly musical people (though my mother loved to sing) which I think they both regretted and I think the instrument they both wanted to learn how to play the most was the piano for some reason. So with that in mind, they leapt at the opportunity and had it installed in our basement right across from the family computer. This was right around third grade for me which is when elementary school started to feel a little more serious, I started wearing glasses, and joined the Cub Scouts. Add piano lessons on to the pile in addition to swimming in local summer leagues and studying martial arts and my young dance card was starting to fill up.
And I enjoyed playing piano and still largely do, I mainly stuck to Beethoven and Scott Joplin in those days but there was just something missing, something that kept me from just sticking to the 88 black and whites exclusively. I think my mom noticed that after a couple years of playing, I had kind of stagnated in ability; my heart wasn't all that into it at the time. A big part of that was the bands I was listening to were changing radically. Sure, The Beatles and The Doors used the keyboards (The keyboards were the best part of The Doors' sound) but all the bands I was getting into in middle school didn't at least not regularly. I had admired the guitar sound for awhile, it just looked so slick and fucking cool. When you're moving and dancing on stage with a guitar, it looks like the best dance partner you could ever hope for. When people dance while behind keyboards at concerts, it just looks awkward as hell. Ever been to a show where the guy on keys is the most emotive person on stage? Always sticks out like a sore thumb.
As much as my made my guitar ambitions known, my mom was worried it was just a passing phase, a fleeting waste of time and resources. She had grown up mainly fending for herself in the post-Korean War streets of Seoul and was very aware of unnecessary excess. With that in mind, I figured I'd just have to scrap together funding on my own and buy the cheapest guitar I could find and settle for that.
What I didn't know is that my mom had been talking to my old piano teacher and the small music shop just a short walk from where she worked about getting me a guitar for months. My teacher knew I wanted to play guitar and the local music shop had a backlog of old acoustics they were trying to offload; the timing was perfect.
Now by the end of elementary school, I knew my parents kept all the Christmas presents they intended to give me and my sister in a large shopping bag in the guest room closet; the presents themselves wouldn't be wrapped until the night before. I would never sit down and rummage through the entire bag...but it never hurt to take a peek if there were larger presents, did it? Christmas Season 2001 was no different and it looked like the usual CDs, DVDs, and clothes this year too.
Christmas morning, we tore through the presents as per tradition and kind of basked in the afterglow of it all. As I started to gather up the discarded wrapping paper for the trash, my mom motioned me over.
"I didn't know how to wrap this last one without giving it away but I want you to check the living room closest." she whispered.
Confused, I sauntered over and opened the closest to find an old SilverTone six-string tucked behind all the winter coats. The frets were big and the strings cut into my then-uncallused fingers when I pressed them down but the sound was deep and sonorous. I turned around to find my mom smiling warmly at me.
"I...thank you...I don't know what to say, Mom...this is incredible." I stammered while alternating between looking at my mother and admiring the guitar up and down. She rose from the couch and quietly walked forward.
"Just promise me that you'll take this seriously. I know you've wanted this for awhile but I want it to mean something." my mom said matter of factly, our matching honey-brown eyes meeting as she looked up at me (I had been noticeably taller than my mother since around the fourth grade). "Do this right, Sam."
I hoisted the guitar up, straightened my posture, and looked right back with a bit of that old smug confidence creeping back in.
"I promise." I smiled wistfully. "Thanks again." And we awkwardly went for the hug with a guitar in my hands. It would be the last major Christmas present I would get from her.
Within a couple years, I was playing in the high school guitar ensemble. I branched into learning how to play the bass and picked up my own custom Stratocaster. I was never the top of the class but that wasn't really the goal. Music has always been my go-to outlet pouring everything I've got into it.
I still have that old SilverTone (and that old upright piano!). Always had trouble with the action and I should probably replace the neck but I worry that if I Frankenstein too much of it, it just won't be the same guitar. And I'll never let that go.
