It makes me proud, unhealthily so, that Bernard is absolutely enthralled by my guitar.
When I bring it into the room to play him a short gig, he noticeably perks up. As I play, he listens intently. And when I am finished, and I lean it against the coffee table, he keeps watching it.
The guitar seems to exert a curious magnetic force upon him too. If I pick him up and suspend him in the air, his body twists towards it, with his legs stuck out at funny angles for balance. He will also lunge towards the headstock if it is in ((the string of words “if it is in” looks funny)) (or near) grabbing distance, which is a move that needs blocking due to the existence of six sharp ends of wire.
Who knows what he’ll be interested in when he is older. I’m not going to deter him from doing what excites him, assuming that it’s legal and wholesome ((This word has all the wrong connotations, but I haven’t got any better ideas)). But I can’t deny that I have a vested interest in music.
Note to self: in future, if Bernard *does* show an interest in learning to play the, oooh, let’s say guitar, then bear in mind that he won’t be very good, initially. Be supportive, you big oaf. I suppose this applies to all of his endeavours.
*Other possible titles for this post:*
* *Off-White Room*
* *Crapping On Heaven’s Floor*
* *Baby Got Neck (ow, let go of my jugular you little scrote)*
* *My Baby Just Cares For Breasts*
* *While My Guitar Gently Pukes On Something*