My First Guitar
I got my first guitar when I was 8 years old. My parents say I was always strumming on objects like they were guitars. My dad was a pastor, so we spent a lot of time in church. He was a Pentecostal pastor, which meant music was a big part of the service. My mom played piano and sang. My dad played drums and sang—sometimes even while he was preaching. Nothing was off-limits. “Make a joyful noise.”
Being in church so often and surrounded by music, it was only natural that I would stand on a pew, strumming a hymnal to join the family band.
When I was maybe 6, my parents bought me a toy guitar. I don’t remember exactly what happened to it, but my guess is it was used as a weapon of war between me and my younger brother. As I grew, so did my love for music—and my respect for instruments. I wanted a real guitar.
One day, as my dad visited his bank and made friendly conversation with the teller, they got to talking about their kids’ Christmas wishes. My dad mentioned that I wanted a guitar. The teller replied that they had bought one for their daughter, but she had lost interest. They struck up a deal for $20, and that Christmas, I received the gift that would change my life.
Fast forward, and I am now older than my dad was when he bought me that guitar. I still have it.
I own many guitars now. I love acoustic guitars—the craftsmanship that goes into a well-made one is amazing. It’s art, and I’m a fan. The way different tonewoods create unique sounds. The vibration of the guitar as you hold it and strum a chord. The smell. The feel. The sound. I’m an addict.
The only acoustic guitar I’m still excited about getting is the one I don’t have yet.
I have old guitars worth a lot of money. I have one-of-a-kind custom guitars. I have high-quality, well-known brands and guitars you’ve probably never heard of. They hang on the walls in my writing room. I pick them up and remember the stories they tell—the journeys we’ve been on together, the songs that never left the room, and the ones that traveled around the world. But none of them are as valuable to me as this inexpensive Hondo classical used $20 guitar.
If someone broke into my house to steal a guitar, this would be the hardest one to take. Let’s say you made it past the gate, the cameras, the deadbolts, the alarm system, and the barrel of my shotgun. Let’s say you reached your hands out to take a guitar—you’d still be short of this one. This $20 guitar often spends its time inside a fire-resistant safe.
The first song I learned to play on it was Aura Lee, which is the melody to Love Me Tender by Elvis Presley. The second song I learned was Amazing Grace. A love song and a song of faith. I’m still writing and playing my own love songs and songs of faith on it today.
I kept this guitar by my bed from the time I was 8 until after I got married. Many nights, I would fall asleep with it on my chest. Eventually, the fear of damaging it—or waking my wife—caused me to move it to a safer place for both our sakes.
Most of the songs on my self-titled first major-label record were written on this guitar. You can even hear it being played on Love Is Looking for You from that album.
But the gift my parents gave me with this guitar goes beyond music. Yes, it was the gift of music. But it was also proof that they believed in me. It was one of the many investments they made in my life that led to me achieving my dream of making music for a living.
But that gift gave me more than just music.
It opened doors for me to travel the world. It introduced me to millions of people. It connected me with some of my best friends. It brought me face to face with the woman who would become my wife and the mother of my children.
How do you thank someone for a gift like that?
Mom and Dad, I am grateful.
I am grateful.
THANK YOU!
Warren, Jr.