Last night while sitting in my office playing guitar, my son came in the room, little guitar in hand, tears streaming down his face. He said he isn’t anything. I looked at him puzzled. He said his sister is a crafter, his father is a coder and I’m a guitarist. We all are “things” but he isn’t.
I can’t lie. I was smiling on the inside. The fact that he called me a guitarist was wonderful. It’s a…
