I was 13 yrs of age growing up in Guayaquil, Ecuador when I started to play guitar. The nylon string guitar is a very popular instrument in Latin America, but for some reason, up to that moment in my life, the instrument had not caught so much of my attention.

 

The defining moment came when the guitar and I crossed paths and an everlasting relationship started. It happened by chance. I came home from school one day and I saw my mother taking lessons from a lady she had contacted for the classes. I asked if I could sit in and listen to the class. I attentively and silently paid attention to the explanation the lady was giving to my mother on how to hold the guitar and how to place the left-hand fingers on the strings over the fretboard. She was explaining to her how to play something that was called a chord. The lady did not know how to read music nor had a good classical guitar technique, but whatever she was explaining to my mother along with her playing sounded intriguing to my ears. I asked my mother if I could also take lessons and she said yes.

 

Unfortunately, I don’t remember the name of the lady, but I am grateful for the playing tips she taught me. I did admire my mother’s efforts at trying to learn to play guitar. I probably would not have learned it myself if it had not been for her initiative to take the lessons. Regretfully, a few months later after she stopped taking the lessons and stopped playing, she said she had forgotten everything she had learned.