My budding Classical Guitarist...
Give him another 10-15 years and he'll be making beautiful music... better than I can make, for sure. AND he probably won't have so much snot and strawberry jam on his face. I hope.
He saw my dusty guitar in the corner this afternoon.
"Mom, can we do that violin?"
"That's a guitar."
"Yeah. Buhcar. Can we do that Buhcar?"
So I got it out and tuned it up and we made a little noise for a while.
I can't actually play it. OKay, I can play "Red River Valley" with chords and a basic scale. Sort of. But that old thing stands in the corner as a symbol of my dreams of playing it. (Heh. I can play other instruments better, and yet I make little music. Shows how far my ambitions go.) I inherited it from my uncle when he died. My Dad set it out for me, but I still had to fight my Mom for it.
("Mom, you have two guitars and no time to play them! Why do you need another?"
"It's a classical guitar and mine are western! You don't even play!"
"But I want to! I'm gonna learn!"
"If you don't learn in 10 years, the guitar defaults to me."
So maybe I never will play. But I'll play my Irish whistles with Jonah on the guitar someday.
Or perhaps his interests will go in another direction entirely. And I won't complain (or I'll try not to).
(But I still hope he plays my classical guitar...)