The Guitar Girls Alliance
Don’t you hate it when this happens?
Happily, I drive a nail through my favorite guitar pick and string it around my neck. It’s getting too old to make a decent note, anyway; I’d just as soon wear it as throw it away. I pick a V-neck shirt to showcase the emblem of my favorite hobby, grab my coat, and dash out the door to the truck, where my dad and brother are waiting so we can meet my mom and aunt and uncle at the hospital where they’re keeping my grandfather overnight.
Tired and hungry, we finally roll into a restaurant three hours later. My “happily” mentioned in the above paragraph is long spent. I’m now exhausted and irritable. I suck absentmindedly on the guitar pick around my neck as is customary when I’m stressed. I finally get my food set down in front of me; the pick drops from my lips and I relax a little. Ah, Italian food... Is there no greater relief for nerves? I stab the lasagna and slowly lift a spoonful to my salivating lips, savoring the moment, when...
“Why are you wearing a guitar pick?” my aunt asks suddenly. “... Did you get it from a... boy who plays guitar?”
... Dang...
Images of three of my best guy friends flash into my mind and the fork drops a little. “Um... no, it’s one of mine.”
A questioning glance follows, but no reply.
I hid the solemn point inside a veil of humor. Think for just a moment and see if you can figure it out.
...
...
...
Aw, come on, don’t give up yet!
...
...
...
Is that your final answer? Let’s see if you’re right...
My aunt -- whom I do love, by the way -- never once considered that a girl would play the guitar. She even went do far as to assume I had a boyfriend who had given it to me! After all, guitar is a guy thing, right? I mean, to play a guitar successfully, you have to have stubby fingernails on your left hand and long, pretty nails on your right. Most girls would rather have long, pretty nails on both hands, thank you very much.... But think about the consequences for a moment. Anytime I tell any guy that I play guitar, he stares at me kind of doubtfully, then gives an uncertain nod. There was one time I remember in particular...
“You don’t believe I play guitar, do you?” I asked a guitarist friend of mine at church one evening.
He shuffled uncomfortably. “Oh, I believe it, I just can’t see it.... Most girls don’t play guitar. You don’t really have the image.”
At least he was honest. I’ve gotten worse before.
I wasn’t particularly insulted. He seemed more pleasantly surprised than horrified. Yes, I am a girl. A girlie girl, some might say before realizing I’m a nonconformist. I like video games, mud, and guitar on top of enjoying sleep overs, flattering clothes, and manicures -- on my right hand only, of course.
I guess I just feel like despite all this “women’s lib” (which didn’t, by the way), the lines are still, thankfully, just as clearly drawn between guys and girls as they ever were. We were created differently, after all. That’s not to say that we girls can’t play guitar just because we aren’t supposed to have uneven nails.... Male fingerpickers have the most girlish right-hand nails I’ve ever seen!
Touché, guys!
I guess guitar is a unisex instrument after all. It just takes a little sacrifice, no matter what your gender. Your touch is numbed on your fretting hand to the point that I, for one, can not even feel the keys as I’m typing them. You write check after check for new strings, picks, tuners, stands, bridges, string winders, pickups, tuning pegs, nuts, cases, amps, cords, and every guitarist’s dream -- that one guitar that’s just too expensive, but you want so badly it hurts. You tune and tune again just to reach that crystal perfect note. You watch anyone who touches your guitar, not only like a hawk, but like a mother hawk. You spend hours massaging your carpal tunnel just because you were too enthusiastic to stretch your wrist before playing, and hours waiting for your fingertips to stop bleeding just long enough for you to play that new song just one more time... again.
But is it worth it? You decide:
When I took guitar and pick in hand for the first time and felt an energy and determination swell up within my blood, was it worth it?
When I hit that difficult note so that it rang true for the first time, filling me with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment, was it worth it?
When I played a song through to completion for the first time, knowing that I had taught myself to do it, was it worth it?
When I told a friend that the song he had just called “insightful” was a song I had written for a hurting friend, was it worth it?
When I played for my guitarist friends -- all guys -- and told them, for the sheer enjoyment of watching their jaws drop through the floor in unison, that I had only been playing six months, was it worth it?
Every time I pick up my guitar, feel the now familiar strings beneath my otherwise unresponsive fingertips, and hear it’s friendly hum conveying my mood, is it worth it?
You betcha.