Humbucker is not a bad word

18 Mar

David decided about a year ago that he’d like to give guitar lessons a try, and because I think it would pretty kick ass to the the mom of a rock star, I agreed. So we waited on the waiting list for 4 months for the best guitar teacher in our area, and now pay a ridiculous amount of money every month for a weekly 30 minute lesson to teach my baby to be the next Jimi Hendrix/Eddie Van Halen/Eric Clapton/bad ass guitar player. Well, the deal was he had to learn acoustic first. So we bought him 3/4 size acoustic guitar and that’s what he’s been using since he started. He’s been bugging me and Chris incessantly about getting an electric, and Chris has been almost totally against it. Mostly because they’re expensive, more responsibility, David loves to play but hates to practice, etc. So Saturday David got back from lessons and had this huge grin on his face. He says, Guess what? My acoustic guitar is broken! It’s vibrating! I was like, Well that’s not good, why do you sound so happy? And he goes, it can’t be fixed! Steve says I need a new guitar! I’m moderately suspicious, because most things can be fixed, but I know nothing about guitars and was in a pretty good mood, so I didn’t push the issue. I called Chris who pretty much said, whatever you think is best, dear. Good enough for me.

So Davey and I go to the guitar shop, and he’s instantly mesmerized by all the guitars on the wall, the amps, even the sales guy, shaved head, tattoos and all (totally looked like the kind of guy that belonged in a guitar shop and was only working there to make ends meet until his band made it big). Davey sits on the stool and the guy brings over this cream-colored Fender and Davey says, yep, I like this one. I was like, well, let’s see what else they have. The guy brings over this blackish-red Fender, and Davey says, yep, I like this one. Again, well, let’s see what else they have. Then the guy brings over a black Fender with a silvery-pearlized pick guard and Davey almost drops the guitar he’s holding on the floor and gasps, Oooo, Mom. I LOVE this one. He starts holding out his arms to grab it and practically snatched it right out of the guys hands. Suffice it to say, he was in love. So now that Davey was occupied for a few minutes, I’m talking to the guy what the difference between these guitars, what’s the best deal, what’s the best guitar for Davey, etc. He starts talking to me about “pickups” and “humbuckers” and I’m thinking he’s saying dirty words to me. It literally took me about 3 minutes to catch on that those are parts of the guitar and not some slang words for hookers or vajayjays. Not that it mattered what the guy said to me, there was no way I was going to be able to get out the store without that guitar. By this time, Davey was gazing at it lovingly, practically petting and cooing “my precious” at it. Suffice it to say, I bought him the guitar.

When we got home, he played and played. He was absolutely blissful. I told him that all great guitar players name their guitars and with out hesitation, he said, Pearl. Her name is Pearl. I was like, are you sure? You don’t want to… He cut me off mid-sentence and glared at me, her name is Pearl. I was like, ehh, ok. So yesterday he was telling me that he’d written a story at school about “her” (the guitar), and the teacher corrected it and told him, guitars aren’t ‘her’ or ‘she’, they’re an ‘it’. I guess he shared a not-too friendly view of her opinion. I’m kinda surprised she didn’t lose a limb. She obviously just doesn’t get that he’s an artist who’s passionate about his instrument. Would she mock Van Gogh’s brushes? Mozart’s piano? I think not. So it’s a little creepy and “Gollum” like. He’s an artist. Artists are eccentric. Some would say that this eccentricity is because all of these artists’ mommas indulge their neurosis, but I say, my baby’s gonna be a rock star, so shut it.

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