Diary of a Player Read Online Free Page B

far from good at it. Maybe I wasn’t meant to be a player.
    After a few months of my premature retirement as a guitarist, my grandfather pulled me aside one day and asked me, “So, Brad, you still playing guitar?” I reminded Papaw that I had stopped for the summer. I could see that this news just broke his heart, though he tried to hide it. Here this man had given me one of his prized guitars to play and I was just slacking off and making excuses. My grandfather looked atme sadly and let it go for a little while. Then one day, he said some words that have stayed with me always: “Brad, I sure wish you’d try that guitar again because I’m telling you right now—you’re really gonna need it when you get older.” Papaw was more right than even he could have known.

    A fter summer, for some reason I decided to pick the guitar back up—and that instantly made my grandfather happy. Soon I started figuring out a thing or two and was able to play what sounded like actual songs. I had reached a crucial point in any player’s progress. I had learned exactly enough on the guitar to impress myself and maybe a few other people. I was still a little too young to care about impressing girls with my guitar prowess, but don’t worry, I eventually got there too.
    I think back to so many nights when my mother—a wonderful teacher no less—was understandably distraught concerning my lousy study habits. I like to think that I was a pretty smart guy before and after the school bell rang, but in between, I was no straight-A student. Part of my problem was that I was able to pass most classes without ever opening a book. I was exactly smart enough to get a B or C withoutreally trying. But being a mediocre student is a bit of a problem when your mom is not only a teacher at your school but one of your teachers too. In her mind, without good grades I would never amount to anything. In my mind, I had a plan that bypassed school completely. And I had no idea how much of a long shot it was. I remembered hearing about how Steve Wariner had left school at seventeen to go on the road with Dottie West. I figured there had to be some tour bus out there with an empty bunk that needed my services.
    So much time was spent arguing about my academics with my parents, who thankfully cared a lot about me and how I was doing. All these years later, research has shown that playing music can enhance a person’s other academic studies, math especially. But it doesn’t take into account the temptation to quit school altogether and go for the big time. That certainly can’t help your math scores.
    Back then, I really just wanted to play, and studying stayed on my back burner. Not only that, it got in the way. On some level, I just knew I had a musical destiny. And in my case, it just so happens that I turned out to be right when I told my parents that listening to music had to come before listening to lectures in class. I’m not suggesting that any kids out there try that at home—or at school for that matter. But in my case, alittle tunnel vision actually worked out quite well. One thing I’ve learned is that everybody’s path in life is a little different, and sometimes the road less traveled pays off.

    I was in third grade and a member of the Glen Dale Methodist Church children’s choir when they asked me to learn a few songs on the guitar. They thought it would be cute for a kid to back them up, as opposed to the usual little old lady on piano.
    They gave me the music for “Try a Little Kindness”—the great Glen Campbell song—and “Life’s Railway to Heaven” to play for the kids. So when I went in to discuss playing at the Sunday service, the choir director asked if I knew them well enough yet. I’d been working on them at home, so I started playing and singing right then and there. The choir director must have been at least a bit impressed and