“Don’t worry,” my mother said. “You’ll love the guitar.” Yeah, right. In spite of my protests, Mom signed me up for beginner guitar lessons. Aware of my lack of enthusiasm, Mom accompanied my dragging feet into the music store to meet my instructor. At least it was a guy, and not an old lady with her hair in a bun. After Mom left things got better—I was on my own and didn’t have to wonder what she would say to embarrass me, as most moms do. After a few weeks, I started to actually enjoy myself. Turns out that you can play really interesting stuff, and my instructor played lots of hot stuff. Those beginner guitar lessons weren’t such a bad deal after all.