A Guy and His Guitar - "Rock n Roll n Mangled Spinal Cords"

With a chronic illness, you have to focus not on what you can't do -- but what you can...

You've got this one life and time's ticking...

You're a fool if you just sit in your own shite all the time and don't look up at the sky...

Just because things didn't go the way you planned, guess what? It doesn't go according to plan for anybody else either...

That was a column I was reading, words to that effect.

Ah, shaddup! is what I was thinking.

Which is funny because the column in so many words summed up my approach to MS. I mean, I don't say things like that to others, but the self-talk in my head cycles through things like that all the time. But sometimes you don't want to hear the spiel, right? Not even if it's your own.

I kept reading though, because it was written well and I was almost through it. And it turned out to be a good piece, because before I got to the end it had sent my mind off spinning in its own direction, like what a good book will do to you. The author said not to focus on the things you've lost, but the things you've gained. Which makes for tricky math. You've got a lot of things on the one side, and not as many on the other. Do they balance out? Only if the things gained are a lot bigger, more substantial. Disability toughens you: plus. It makes you more resourseful: plus. I guess in a weird way, disability brought me my wife, because neither one of us was in it to get married. Our attitude toward marriage was more like, 'Ick.' But things changed, kind of fast, which is a whole other story. Bottom line, I got the girl, even if I had to get disabled to do it. Jackpot. Gotta do what you gotta do.

But while reading that column about losing things, images flashed through my mind. One of the first was giving away my guitar. A guy loves his guitar. We were literally attached at the hip for a dozen years. I walked around with it everywhere. It was a black '84 Fender Stratocaster, and it was all mine. But my fingers eventually were no longer mine. I loved playing but was never wizard, and yet my playing grew sloppier still. A lot of playing is muscle memory: practice practice practice and you'll play better and faster. But I was going the opposite direction. My fingers were unlearning songs. In the middle of jams, the guitar pick shot out of my hands like a bullet. There came a time when the guitar never left its case, and when the case grew dust. I scarcely noticed because life had become so tiring that simply going back and forth to work and school left no time for guitar anyway.

Dangerous Black Man Armed With Strat

Times with my friends were rarer too, so once, when one of my best buds was leaving my apartment, I happened to spot the guitar standing in the corner. I didn't think about it beforehand, but I told him to take it. Of course it had to go to him, the only one of us with talent and seriously playing anymore. His bands would go on to play the big Chicago clubs on Saturday nights. It was instantly clear to me, so I said to take it with him. I had to say it twice because he didn't understand. I didn't either, I just wanted it gone. That and the acoustic, a chunky strumming guitar. That was a helluva weird feeling afterward. Notice how detailed this got? It's like telling your friend about a breakup. A guy loves his guitar.

I don't remember getting a mobility scooter, or getting approved for disability, or getting the blue parking tag, but I remember that feeling of my guitar being gone so well. I'm feeling it right now. I felt it while reading that column.

That was years ago. Water under the bridge. I think I saw it once in all that time. I couldn't play it, so who cares anymore? We broke up. But here's the cool wrap-up, the thing gained.

Little King

My friend's son, who is my godson, grew from a little train fanatic into a tall, cool teenaged bass player like his daddy. And just like his daddy, he's fronting garage bands. In the past year photos surface of him slinging a guitar that's looking mighty familiar. He's made a couple slight modifications to it, and I'll admit wtf'ing at first sight. But a guitar is a very personal thing. A guy loves his guitar. So you'll do what you want to make it yours. The Strat's his, and they look right together. I'm loving that. I got the girl, he got the guitar. It's a crazy life, ain't it?

I also have admit something else that says everything turned out just the way it was supposed to. Because honestly, truly, I totally sucked at guitar.