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Gerard zestfully paced around the living room, in anticipation of Mr. Polansky, a a renowned guitar teacher in Atlanta. After weeks of pestering his father to arrange guitar lessons for him, Gerard could not be more excited about finally receiving the opportunity to make the right use of the instrument that he had requested as a birthday gift from his parents. He spent his time thinking about one day possessing the alluring ability to play all those rich and bewildering guitar solos that his favorite artists and bands, to name a few, Jimi Hendrix, Metallica, and AC/DC, incorporated in their songs. The mere thought of being on a stage with all eyes centered on him and simply adoring his virtuosic delivery simply amazed him. He would often pick up the guitar and start to strum the strings in an absolutely nonsensical manner. He was truly passionate about the instrument.

As soon as the boy heard the sound of a car gate shut with full force, he rushed outside the door. The short and old teacher walked towards him with a comparatively smaller guitar strapped on his shoulder, and introduced himself. Gerard cordially invited the man inside, who then was welcomed by his parents and served refreshments. Gerard’s parents were quite warm and congenial kind of people. It would be a felony for them to cease to put something on the table for a guest, whom for them was anyone who lay a foot inside their house.

Mr. Polansky’s student was well prepared, with all the necessary equipment laid out in place of the coffee table in the living room. “It is a nice guitar you have, son,” said Mr. Polansky, who was generally impressed by his student’s alacrity. For Gerard, it was all finally happening. It seemed to him as if all his dreams for the past week were starting to come true. “Let’s start with the musical notation, shall we?” said Mr. Polansky, as he placed an open book with pages showing musical notations and bars on the musical stand. To Gerard, it was like looking at some sort of an ancient and cryptic scripture. He positioned his finger on a fret and pressed down on the string with its tip, simultaneously picking the string from his right hand on the other end, to hear the sound of the first note he had ever learned. “That’s a C,” Mr. Polansky remarked, and then went on to show Gerard the C major scale. Gerard played the scale five times, before his instructor walked him through several exercises in the book with jumbled notes of the particular scale.

The first day of guitar class was a success for Gerard. “I hope you had fun today, son,” said Mr. Polansky, as he started to leave. “I definitely did, sir!” replied Gerard, quite enthusiastically. He then walked outside to see off the old man, who asked him to practice for at least ten minutes per day. Immediately after Mr. Polansky left, Gerard rushed back inside and started playing again. “So, how was it, son?” asked his mother. “It was amazing, mom! Today we did the C major scale,” he replied and then demonstrated to his parents what he had learned by playing some notes. His parents were happy that their son was learning music. They always encouraged any talent or hobby that he proposed to develop, regardless of how far he chose to haul it.