How Music Saved My Child’s Life

How Music Saved My Son’s Life

I will never forget the feeling when I saw my son perform on stage for the first time.

He was 13 and had recently picked up the guitar, having only been playing for a few months. His music school often held gigs at the Stone Pony, a New Jersey venue made famous by The Boss himself, Bruce Springsteen. It was a far cry from the elementary school auditorium gigs many parents are used to, and I prayed that his nerves wouldn’t get the better of him. He’s normally very shy and introverted, and I was worried that he would do everything he could to blend into the background. So when the lights dimmed, I held my breath, pulled out my phone, and started recording.

Then, to my great surprise, the show opened with a guitar solo by my son. The spotlight was on him as he perfectly strummed the opening notes of Everlong by the Foo Fighters on the electric guitar he had recently received as a birthday present. The fact that he chose to play one of my favorite songs was no coincidence either.

I was beaming. You could almost hear me smile. There really is no accurate way to describe the emotions that rushed through my body as I looked at my firstborn child, this whole person who I have madethis guitar solo all in front of a crowd of people. The waves of pride kept coming as the day went on as I watched him happily play a few more songs. When I got home, I posted the video of the guitar solo on my social media and my heart kept swelling with pride from the supportive comments and reactions until I thought it might burst. It was easily one of the best days of my life, and hopefully his too.

That day it dawned on me that the guitar is not just a musical instrument for my son. It is his therapy, his lifeline, his weapon against dark and intrusive thoughts.

Before he found this hobby, he wasn’t in a great place. His dad and I split up when he was in sixth grade, in the middle of a pandemic, and it hit him hard difficult. He was depressed, distracted in class, and seemed unhappy most of the time. His grades were dropping, and the teachers kept calling. I didn’t know what to tell them. He had few friends, if any, and his shyness and insecurities were getting worse.

Despite his introverted nature, I found him a therapist and encouraged him to open up, hoping he could talk to a professional about his pain. I am a huge advocate for therapy and mental health. I have been in therapy for six years and would be lost without it, so my hopes were high.

His therapist, a soft-spoken young guy, was able to connect with him—when they talked about video games, that is. I suspect their conversations never really went beyond the surface. Not that he was a bad therapist. I could tell that he saw my son for who he was: a shy, sweet, funny, intelligent, deeply misunderstood child. He just couldn’t break through the dark shell he was hiding in. Eventually, the therapist stopped accepting our insurance and his sessions were over. My son was thrilled; I was worried. Never in a million years would I have imagined that an instrument would be the breakthrough we needed.

We’re talking about a kid who hated almost every song I ever played, who spent his entire life making fun of other kids for their taste in popular music. When he was younger, I never considered sending him to music lessons—the idea seemed ridiculous at the time. Instead, we tried karate, baseball, swimming, basketball, flag football. In retrospect, I should have sent him to art lessons, too, but all boys love sports, right? Ugh, I know. He really enjoyed flag football, and it helped his self-confidence immensely. Until it didn’t, anyway.

When he was a baby, his favorite show was Jack’s Big Music Show. It was one of the few things that kept him from crying due to colic, teething, and being cranky (and for that reason, it’s one of my all-time favorite shows). Whenever it came on, he would happily focus on the three lively puppets and their garage band full of every instrument under the sun. I always found it ironic that he seemed to hate music so much, after the way he would light up whenever that show came on. But as it turns out, there’s a big difference between listening to music and making music, and when my son discovered this, his whole world opened up.

He’s 16 now and taught himself to play the piano. We have an electric keyboard in the garage and when he practices there, I feel like I’m in the lobby of a fancy hotel. I can’t believe this is the same kid who used to beg me to drive in silence because the radio annoyed him so much. It turns out he’s just not a fan of the music everyone else is listening to. He eventually found his own sound and I took him to his first concert last year to see a progressive band called Polyphia, whose songs are electric and mostly wordless – and by far his favorite to practice guitar to.

I can’t stress enough how much I wish we had tried music earlier. I don’t know if it would have saved him from those dark times, but it certainly would have helped. Since he started playing, he’s gained a lot of confidence and purpose. His demeanor has changed from always being sad and angry to that of a typical teenage boy. While he still has his moments, the dark times are over. And if they ever come back, he’ll be equipped to fight them, one guitar string at a time.

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