“Because it has feelings?”
“Exactly.” He picks up his own guitar. “Let’s work on transitioning between chords. Watch me first.”
He demonstrates moving smoothly from G to C to D, his fingers flowing across the fretboard. Lily watches intently, her fingers twitching as she mentally follows along.
“Now you try. Slow at first.”
She attempts the progression on her guitar, stumbling on the transition from C to D. He shows her a trick for repositioning her fingers, and she tries again. Better this time.
I sit on the couch and watch. Watch my daughter concentrate with an intensity I usually only see when she’s reading. Watch Darian teach with natural ease, breaking everything down into manageable pieces. Watch them interact like this is the most normal thing in the world.
“Your mom said you remembered everything from last night,” he says to Lily. “Want to show me?”
She proceeds to demonstrate her recall, naming parts of the guitar, explaining what frets are for, remembering the string names he taught her. He listens, impressed.
“You’ve got a good memory,” he tells her. “That’s going to help a lot.”
She beams at the praise.
For the next hour, I watch them work together. He teaches her how to hold a pick, how to press the strings, how to make her first chord. She struggles with finger placement and he adjusts her hand gently, explaining why each position matters.
“It hurts,” she says at one point, looking at her fingertips.
“It will at first. Your fingers need to build up strength. But if you practice a little each day, it gets easier.”
“How long did it take your fingers to stop hurting?”
“About two weeks. But I practiced a lot. Maybe too much.”
“Can you play something?” she asks. “So I can see what it sounds like when you’re good?”
He glances at me and I nod. He takes the guitar and plays something simple but beautiful. Lily watches his fingers, mesmerized.
“Will I be able to do that?”
“If you practice, absolutely.”
“How long?”
“Depends on how much you practice. But I bet you could play a song in a month.”
“A whole song?”
“A simple one, yeah.”
She looks at me. “Can he come back? To teach me more?”
I meet Darian’s eyes. He’s waiting, not pushing, just waiting to see what I decide.
“If he wants to,” I say.
“I want to,” he says simply.
And there it is. The decision is made. Not just about guitar lessons but about everything they represent. About letting him into our routine, our life, our space.
“When?” Lily asks.
“We’ll figure it out,” I tell her. “Right now, focus on what he’s teaching you.”
