When I was married to my second husband, we went to a big antique and general junk festival. Spawn found an old, worn out, plastic guitar that had 4 of the 6 strings still attached. It was a buck. I rolled my eyes and bought it for them.
Some time later, they were playing with it and wouldn’t go to bed. I took it away and, in putting it down too fiercely for old, worn out plastic, shattered it. They were devastated. I groveled in apology. I did not intend to break it. I didn’t realize it was so fragile.
I have felt like a shit mom about that ever since.
About a decade later, they started playing in earnest. There was some school band with piano, trumpet and coronet in there between those events. Enough to learn to read music.
Every 5 years, the company I worked for gave me a present via a catalogue that I got to pick from. I have received a glass vase (5), a double strand pearl bracelet (10), a leather carry on (15), rings (20, 25, 30) and a Solo Stove (35) (that I gave to my sister. because there was nothing in the catalogue that appealed to me).
Last week, I got the catalogue to pick out a retirement gift.
Spawn got an acoustic Fender.
They remembered the event with the little plastic guitar and said this has definitely made up for it.
The fret markers are stars.
