My wife was determined that our little boy should learn to play guitar. His instructor was a 25-year-old young man. One day, when my wife was sick, I offered to drive our son to his lesson. He started crying in the car, so I told him it was okay to skip it if he wanted. Later, though, I decided to meet the teacher myself to understand what was going on.
When I arrived at his home, I was surprised to find a lively yard filled with guitars, music stands, and rows of small chairs. It looked like a miniature music academy alive with children laughing and practicing different instruments. The teacher greeted me warmly at the door, holding a handmade sticker chart covered in gold stars and kind messages. It struck me that this wasn’t just work for him—he truly loved guiding children through music.
