I entered high school at about the time the "British Invasion" was entering America. Every pop radio station regularly played singles from the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Herman's Hermits, Gerry and the Pacemakers and dozens of other groups who raced for top spots on weekly surveys. As girls swooned over the "mop-topped" stars, boys competed for attention by learning an instrument and starting a band. Somehow, I had no problem joing the ranks of so many other juveniles who fell into the fantasy.
It is a good thing if your parents, or you as a parent, know the value of learning an instrument. Although my older brother and sister both took piano lessons, I never showed any interest and my parents never pushed it. I think a lot of it had to do with parochial school. Young girls, with their blue-checkered school uniforms, learned the piano in after-school sessions from the nuns. The selections, usually, were hymns they would aspire to play on the church organ at High Mass. The girls who rose to the highest level became the leaders of the choir because, ultimately, everyone knew who was behind the organ when the first notes of "Holy, Holy, Holy" rang out at the daily Mass.
It would be okay playing keyboards to rock music -- heck, it sounded good when the Animals or Zombies played it. Drums were even cooler. When Dave Clark or Gary Lewis led their bands by pounding the beat to their hits, suddenly the drums were no longer in the background. But did I really want to lug an organ or drum set to practices or concerts? Maybe someday my roadie would do that, I imagined. The guitar was easily winning my logic. So, I approached my parents about getting my own guitar.
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