Musings from Memory Lane: Dad, Me and his guitar

One thing that was always constant in my Dad’s life was music. I think he was born with a love for it down deep in his soul. I remember him telling me about having his friend, Edward Webb, show him how to play the guitar when he was a teenager. He said he had almost given up when a melody strung together and he knew that he had to keep going. From there, Dad’s love for music and the guitar kept growing. Soon, he joined a group of friends and was playing local events. They had their own radio show on the local radio station and Dad said some people called him Hinton’s own Johnny Cash. While he loved that and all the requests to sing Ring of Fire, he secretly wanted to be known as the local Elvis Presley.  

My earliest memories of my Dad and his guitar involve an old reel-to-reel recorder he had. He loved making recordings of his guitar playing. He would put paper across an oatmeal box to simulate a drum. I thought it was the most fun thing in the world but to my Dad, it was super serious. We were always going to spaghetti dinners, nursing homes, etc. for him to play with his group. Eventually, Dad got a group together at church, and church events were traded for spaghetti dinners. I still have the cassette tapes he recorded with his church group– The Good News Trio. Dad played and sang in the church up until his health no longer allowed it.  

Growing up, we would sit around with Dad playing the guitar. He was a perfectionist. If he messed up, the whole song had to be started over. One of his favorite groups to play was the Statler Brothers. I think that’s why I enjoy going to see Jimmy Fortune perform so much now.  For a moment, I’m transported back in time and I’m back with my Dad playing those same songs on his country and western model Gibson hummingbird. That guitar was more than an instrument to my Dad. When he picked it up, it became an extension of his very being. Anyone who ever heard him play would understand. 

After my Mom passed away, Dad clung to that guitar like a lifeline–like it was the only thing keeping him going. 

Now that Dad’s gone, I look at the guitar and it’s like having a piece of him still with me. It’s getting ready to take a place of honor on my wall. It’s more than a guitar. It’s a symbol of everything my Dad was. A beautiful melody to hear again and again every time I see that Gibson.