It struck him over the Memorial Day holiday in 2003. An epiphany is what his scholarly friend Leta called it, his "awakening" is what he called it.
He had been out in his backyard cleaning off the bar-be-que for use that afternoon when he was struck by the rhythmic tones created when he dragged the wire brush across the grates of the cooking grid. They sounded like a harp would sound if harps were the instrument of choice for musicians in Punk rock bands.
At that moment he decided that it was time for him to pursue a dream, the dream, the one that had taken up residency in the back of his mind in the Fall of his seventh grade year and had never left, not even after he had found success pursuing other, more reasonable dreams.
That dream was of course the one wherein he forms a rock band and tours the country constantly, banging out hits and picking up chicks.
He wasn't going to go half-cocked about it, oh no, not him. He had become much too cautious and had much-to-much invested in the life he now lived to chuck it all willy-nilly. But he was definitely going to form a band. He would talk it over with Trina and the kids that night, after everyone had gone home and everything had been cleaned up and put away.
And so he did. His wife was understanding as usual and even volunteered to help him put together an ad for bandmates. The kids were skeptical and a derisive comment or two was heard from them, but his youngest did say he would be happy to work as a roadie if it got him out of school.
That Monday he paid a visit to a local music store and inquired about guitar lessons. The store had a contact board for music teachers and students seeking one another, and he found a guitar teacher that he since has come to refer to as his "Guitar Guru."
Much to the dismay of the guitar teacher.
For though the guitar teacher had done everything he could to teach him how to play the guitar (and, simultaneously, had pleaded with him to maybe try a different instrument, one that did not require as much ability, like maybe the tambourine), he was unable to succeed beyond basic chord structure and reading tab, despite uncountable hours of instruction.
The "Guitar Guru" patiently tried everything he knew (and could google) to teach him strumming and picking techniques, but for reasons beyond all comprehension nothing seemed to impart these simple skills to his student.
Which did not bother the student in the least bit, for he had been able to recruit several like-minded middle-aged men and women to join him in his band, and they had managed to learn quite a few classic rock songs and even one or two more recent tunes.
They put their own spin on those tunes, and that spin was generally regarded as horrible. In the annals of Rock & Roll music there had been a large number of groups that consisted of members who either could not competently play their instruments or sing or stay in tune or remember the words to the songs they were singing or keep the beat, but this band had taken all of those elements and put them together in a blender set on puree.
They were, simply put, the single worst band in the history of Rock & Roll. School children openly wept at their performances, and happily married couples had been driven to divorce over one or the other's desire to watch the band perform live.
It was that bad, and worse.
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