MY 13-YEAR-OLD SON SOLD THE GUITAR HE LOVED WITHOUT TELLING ME—THE NEXT MORNING, TWO POLICE OFFICERS SHOWED UP AT OUR DOOR AND SAID, “MA’AM, YOU NEED TO KNOW WHAT YOUR SON DID.”
Ethan loved his guitar more than almost anything.
We had bought it for his birthday after months of saving, and from the moment he opened the case, it became part of his daily routine.
He played before dinner.
After homework.
On weekends.
Sometimes I had to remind him that people living three houses away probably didn’t need an acoustic concert at ten at night.
So when I walked into his room one afternoon carrying a basket of laundry and noticed the empty guitar stand beside his desk, I stopped.
