My dad wasn’t around much, and when he was, there was usually drama. But for some reason, when I turned thirteen, he decided it was time to give me a guitar. He played, his dad played, and my dad never had any sons. So he gave me a 1979 Takamine acoustic, a jumbo dreadnought that was nearly as tall as I was.
I adored it. I lugged it to school with me. I learned to pick out tabs with it laying on my lap, until a year or so had passed and I was tall enough to get my arms over it.
Unfortunately, my beautiful guitar did not survive that first year out on my own in Long Beach, trying to make rent. I pawned it for $100 and got sick shortly after. I was terribly upset by it. The guitar was worth a lot more than I knew, emotionally speaking.
I tried a few cheap replacements, but I usually sold them within a month or two for various reasons – mostly just because they weren’t MY guitar. Walking home from work one day in Long Beach, I saw an old man sitting on his front porch playing. When I got close enough to hear it, I recognized the sound immediately, and as I walked past I read “Takamine” on the neck in familiar gold script. I don’t know if it was MY guitar, but I’ve been looking for that sound ever since.
Today I bought another cheap replacement, but this time I got one that I already knew I loved – an Ovation acoustic/electric. I’ve wanted one since I was fifteen, when I realized I needed something that fit me better than my Takamine.
She’s Ruby Red, and I have named her absolutely sweet Marie. I can’t wait until she gets here. I can’t wait to play.