How Music Saved My Son’s Life
I’ll never forget the feeling of seeing my son perform on stage for the very first time.
He was 13 and had recently taken up the guitar, playing for just a few short months. His music school often held their shows at the Stone Pony, a New Jersey venue made famous by The Boss himself, Bruce Springsteen. It was a far cry from the elementary school auditorium performances many parents are used to, and I prayed he wasn’t going to let his nerves get to him. He’s normally very shy and introverted, and I worried he was going to do whatever it took to blend into the background. So, as the lights dimmed, I held my breath, grabbed my phone and started recording.
Then, to my utmost surprise, the show kicked off with a guitar solo by my son. The spotlight was squarely on him as he perfectly strummed the opening notes to Everlong by the Foo Fighters on the electric guitar he had received as a birthday gift not long ago. The fact that he chose to play one of my favorite songs was not a coincidence, either.
I was beaming. You could practically hear me smiling. There is really no accurate way to describe the emotions coursing through my body as I watched my firstborn child, this whole person that I made, completely nail this guitar solo in front of a crowd of people. The waves of pride kept coming as the day wore on, gleefully watching him play several more songs. When I got home, I posted the video of the guitar solo on my social media and my heart continued to swell with pride from the supportive comments and reactions, until I thought it might actually burst. It was easily one of the best days of my life, and hopefully his too.
That day, it hit me that the guitar is not just a musical instrument to my son. It is his therapy, his lifeline, his weapon against dark and intrusive thoughts.
Before he found this hobby, he was not in a great place. His father and I divorced when he was in the sixth grade, smack dab in the middle of a pandemic, and it hit him hard. He was depressed, distracted in class, and seemed unhappy almost all the time. His grades were falling and the teachers kept calling. I didn’t know what to tell them. He had few friends, if any, and his shyness and insecurities worsened.
Despite his introverted nature, I found a therapist for him and encouraged him to open up, hoping that he could talk his way through the pain with a professional. I’m a huge proponent for therapy and mental health care. I’ve been in therapy for six years and I’d be lost without it, so my hopes were high.
His therapist, a soft-spoken, youngish guy was able to connect with him – whenever they were talking about video games, that is. I suspect their conversations never really rose beyond surface level. Not that he was a bad therapist. I could tell that he saw my son for exactly who he was: a shy, sweet, funny, intelligent, and deeply misunderstood kid. He just couldn’t crack that dark shell he was hiding in. Eventually the therapist stopped taking our insurance and his sessions came to an end. My son was thrilled; I was worried. Never in a million years could I have imagined that an instrument would be the breakthrough that we needed.
We’re talking about a child who has hated almost every song I have ever played, who scoffed at other kids for their taste in popular music his entire life. When he was younger I never even considered putting him in a music class – the thought seemed ridiculous at the time. Instead, we tried karate, baseball, swimming, basketball, flag football. In retrospect, I should have also put him in art classes, but all boys love sports, right? Yikes, I know. He did really enjoy flag football, though, and it helped his confidence level immensely. Until it didn’t, anyway.
When he was a baby, his favorite show was called Jack’s Big Music Show. It was one of the only things that would stop him from crying through colic, teething and crankiness (and for that reason it is also one of my favorite shows of all time). Whenever it came on, he would happily switch his full focus to the three lively puppets and their garage band full of every instrument under the sun. I always found it ironic that he seemed to dislike music so much after the way he would light up when that show came on. But, as it turns out, there is a major difference between listening to music and making music, and when my son discovered this his entire world opened up.
He is now 16 years old and has since taught himself to play the piano. We have an electric keyboard in the garage and when he is in there practicing, I feel like I’m in the lobby of a fancy hotel. I cannot believe this is the same child who used to beg me to drive in silence because the radio annoyed him so much. It turns out he simply isn’t a fan of the stuff everyone else is listening to. Eventually he found his sound, and I took him to his first concert last year to see a progressive band called Polyphia, whose songs are electric and mostly lyric-free – and by far his favorite to practice on the guitar.
I cannot express enough how badly I wish we had tried music sooner. I don’t know that it would have saved him from those dark times, but it definitely would have helped. Ever since he started playing, he’s gained a ton of confidence and purpose. His demeanor has shifted from sad and angry all the time to that of a typical teenage boy. While he still has his moments, the dark times are over. And if they ever return, at least he’s equipped to fight them off, one guitar string at a time.
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