Musical magic for a young boy

I was a kid when we moved from Nova Scotia to the big city of Toronto.

A shock, for sure.

We had a basement apartment in Riverdale. I guess I was 6 or 7 years old. Out of my element in a very new place.

But in one of the main floor apartments there was magic…

There was a man who lived there. And every now and then I would hear music coming from his apartment. On a couple of occasions, his door would be cracked open.

A somewhat shy and insecure kid I would muster the courage to quietly strategically place myself in such a way that I could see through the opening in the door.

There before me. A big stogie jammed between his teeth was the occupant. How old? I have no clue. Forties, maybe.

But what frozen me in my tracks was the guitar he had on his lap. The sound coming out of it. The magic that his fingers did with the strings.

A little kid, A simple man with an ability to change a life by just exercising a gift that God had given him because he enjoyed it.

I don’t believe I ever once spoke to him; but he through his talent and guitar spoke volumes to me.

The moral is simple: We may not get to see how we’ve influenced anyone who crosses our path and that influence may not show up until years later.

Make sure your influence is a good one for no ther reason than the fact it will matter to someone.