Guitar Built For Baby Boy and Grown Man

Roc jams, 13 months old.

Roc jams, 13 months old.

I built an electric guitar for my son.

It wasn’t difficult –- it came in a kit and cost about $100. I spent another couple bucks on stain and sealant. Once I finished the body and shaped the headstock, it took less than an hour to put together, the only tools needed were a couple of screwdrivers.

I got the guitar kit shortly after my son was born, but I wasn’t motivated to assemble the instrument until recently, when I became aware of a terrible injustice among musicians, an injustice that has been prevalent for years, but about which I only recently took notice.

It started when a co-worker asked my advice on buying an electric guitar. He didn’t know how to play, but he wanted to learn on something good. He had a budget of $1,000. I told him he didn’t need to spend that much; he could buy a decent guitar for $200-$300.

Roc jams, 13 years old

Roc jams, 13 years old

“No, I want a good one,” he said.

“Okay,” I said. “If I was going to spend that much, I’d buy a vintage Strat or a Les Paul.”

“No. I want a new guitar.”

I wondered why he even asked my advice in the first place. Our company’s vice-president overheard our conversation and tossed in his two cents. He owns an early ‘70s Gibson Les Paul Goldtop, a classic guitar worth several thousand dollars.

“It’s sitting in a case in the back of my bedroom closet,” he said. “I haven’t touched it in years.”

A few days later, my co-worker bought a brand new Gibson SG. It’s a beautiful instrument, and he’s getting pretty good at rudimentary chords. But I wonder how long it will be before that instrument is sitting in the back of a bedroom closet, too.

I conveyed these thoughts to a friend, who teaches guitar in Westchester County, NY. The majority of his students are young teenagers toting $1,500 guitars bought by wealthy parents. Most of these instruments will undoubted end up stowed away in closets and stuffed under beds, unplayed. Meanwhile, my friend plays a Frankenstein Strat, pieced together from various Fender parts for a total of around $400.

The pattern of injustice became clear: The people who can play and appreciate a fine musical instrument can rarely afford one. Good, quality instruments are not priced for working musicians, the guy who earns a couple of hundred bucks playing bars and wedding bands on weekends, maybe another $75 during the week giving lessons. That guy can barely afford toilet paper. The musician who already has a record deal and sold a few albums probably has an endorsement deal, too, and gets his instruments for free. Meanwhile, a vintage 1970 Gibson Les Paul sits in the back of a closet, a forgotten memento of some CEO’s youthful folly, its strings silenced, its shiny Goldtop shut away in darkness. It’s not fair.

That’s when I decided to build Rocco a guitar of his own. If it gets relegated to the back of a closet so be it. It’ll still always have his name on it, still be a one-of-a-kind instrument made just for him.

And if he actually does take an interest in playing his guitar, we can swap in better parts, or upgrade to a new instrument all together.

Sure, Rocco’s only 16 months old and hasn’t even mastered holding a spoon yet. But he’ll grow into it. Someday, a decade or two down the road, he’ll develop the finger dexterity needed to tackle the subtle variations of a G chord. His guitar will be ready when he is.

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Getting my Asperger in gear for Autism Awareness Month

autism ribbon and puzzle pieces

Autism Awareness Month rolls around again.

Next Thursday, April 2, I’ve been invited to speak at the Totowa Library in honor of Autism Awareness Day…but I’m really not sure what to say.

I’m the father of a 13-year-old son with autism, and I’ve written two books and a bunch of articles about autism, parenting, and raising a special needs child. I suppose I should be plugging my latest book, “Autism Dad 2: Continuing Adventures in Autism, Adolescence and Fatherhood.” But sales of the book are slow (weak, actually) and reader feedback isn’t much better.

My mom doesn’t like “Autism Dad 2” because I write about falling out with the Catholic Church after my son’s autism diagnosis. This was over a decade ago, and I’ve since made peace with the Catholic Church and God him/her/itself, but mom is still disappointed that I put it all in writing for everyone to see. I think I embarrassed her (or maybe she’s embarrassed for me), but either way, she’s disappointed she can’t share my latest work with her friends at the senior clubhouse.

My sister called me in tears after reading Autism Dad 2.

“I didn’t know all those things happened to you,” she said. “I just…feel so bad.”

Maybe that’s the risk you take when you publish a memoir — sometimes those closest to you are in for harsh surprises. I probably over-shared “too much information” in my new book.

I think my biggest mistake in “Autism Dad 2” is that I strayed too far from the title topic. The book is more about my personal feelings and reactions to my son’s autism rather than my son’s life as a young adolescent with a developmental disorder. But autism has a way of permeating your life and influencing your decisions for better or worse. In the early days after my son’s autism diagnosis in August 2003, it was for the worse. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was grieving, and a lot of that dark mojo bled through into my writing.

Also, “Autism Dad 2” may have been hurt by my stance on childhood vaccines in the first book. I didn’t come out as anti-vaccine in that book — nor am I anti-vaccine now — but I did voice concerns about the amount of vaccines infants are given. I still have concerns. Do babies really need 36 different vaccine shots in the first 24 months of their lives? Why do immunizations and the vaccine schedule have to be one-size-fits-all and not tailored for each individual child? Am I a bad parent and a terrible human being for even asking these questions?

It seems so. The backlash against “anti-vaxxers” has been severe, especially in the wake of recent mumps and measles outbreaks. (Even though there’s no link between these outbreaks and a lack of immunizations, vaccine proponents are using these return of the mumps and measles as a media rallying cry. But that’s a topic for another time.)

Vaccines are good, and parents who don’t vaccinate their children are bad. The message is loud and clear. Study after study has shown no link between vaccines and autism. I get it. I got it back in 2010 when I was writing the first volume of “Autism Dad,” too, but I still came down pretty hard on big pharmaceutical companies and childhood vaccines, and maybe that cost me readers.

I hope you’ll come out and watch me fumble for words at the Totowa Public Library next Thursday. It’s the first of several speaking engagements I have this month. I’ll be addressing a class of parents, educators, and teachers at Centenary College about special needs kids, and visiting my daughter’s fifth grade class as “professional writer guy.” I need to get my act together and tell everyone about the rise in autism rates, the importance of Autism Awareness Month, and why acceptance, understanding, and love are the best treatments for this strange — but increasingly common — disorder.

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