Now lemme tell you somethin’.
Teachin' these young ones... it’s like tryin’ to teach a butterfly about music. Beautiful, fragile little things, just flutterin’ through life, all wings and wonder. Some of ‘em so young, they barely know how to sit still, let alone hold a rhythm. But here they are, in this class, sittin’ cross-legged and starry-eyed, lookin’ up at me like I’m the whole damn sky.
Got these two little girls in there—sweet as honey and twice as delicate. They run up outta nowhere, wrap them tiny arms around me like I’m their big ol’ teddy bear. Just clutchin’ on for dear life. Ain’t nothin’ prepare you for that. That kind of love? That kind of trust? Man, it’s humblin'. Cuts right through you. Makes you remember every time you needed someone to hold on to and nobody was there.
Sometimes they just wanna stand next to me, like my shadow's their safe place. Then they go wigglin' back to their seat, squirmy and restless like little river fish. Truth be told, they probably too young for the class, but maybe—just maybe—they hear somethin’.
Funny thing is, when I ask a question, it's usually the littlest ones who answer first. Like they been listenin' the whole time, tucked behind all that fidgetin’. As if somehow, through the clouds of distraction, that melody still slips in. Ain’t that somethin’? It’s like they feel the music, even if they don’t understand it yet.
Now don’t get me wrong—I ain’t tryin’ to make this my life’s work, teachin’ kids that tender. They beautiful, but they fragile. And I ain't built to hold butterflies in my hands every day. I prefer ‘em a little older. Ten to fourteen—that’s that golden age. Still wild, but you can talk to ‘em. Lock eyes. Say somethin’ real. They’ll nod, pretend they understand, maybe even do understand if the wind's blowin’ right.
But this teachin’ gig? It’s a different beast entirely. I done played for decades, taught a handful over the years, mostly guitar lessons here and there. But step into a room with all them little souls starin’ back at you? That’s another kind of blues, baby. That’s a whole new tune.
Now, when a student comes to you—hungry to learn, eyes wide open, beggin’ for knowledge—that’s a groove I can slide into. But walkin’ into a room where you gotta earn their attention? That’s a dance with no rhythm, half the time. Still, I’m grateful for the shot. I mean that. Even if I don’t think I’ll ever be able to teach a butterfly the blues.
You just gotta play for ‘em. Love on ‘em. Admire that wild beauty, even if they never sit still long enough to catch the melody.
So tell me—what’s the youngest soul you ever tried to reach with your music? And did they hear you?