When I was a little boy around 12 years old, I was big into motorcycles. I wanted to be a motocross racer! I had no interest in music. I rarely listened to music and I certainly had no notion of playing music. One day I was riding my bike through the back woods of north jersey and I happened across a little shack. I thought it was a cool little place and had no earthly idea that someone actually lived there. I got off my bike and went inside. It found an old man hunched over in his chair with an old guitar laying on the floor at his feet. His mini "Pignose amp" was still on and there was a slight hum coming from its tiny speaker. I asked "mister, are you ok?" He replied "my time is here, sit with me a while". I did. He talked and told me stories of how he was a guitar player and then some of his stories from his adventures touring across the land. I was enthralled! His stories were magical and so tall they sounded made up. I listened intently anyway. I was enjoying myself immensely. After a couple hours, he said to me "I have no children and no family. I have no one here with me in the end but you. I want to pass on what I have learned but have no one to pass it on to. Will you take what was once given to me?" I didn't know what he was talking about but I knew he was about to die. So I said "yes sir, I will!" He smiled and held my hand as he drifted away.