Read this great post by The Heavy Metal Philosopher about “Generations of Metalheads: Passing On My Bass.”

It’s a wonderful true story about a father and a daughter and a shared love of great music!

Here’s just a taste:

I learned to play bass while I was a young man in the Army, and then when I came back to the States, with my very first paycheck (working at Shakey’s Pizza Parlor, in Waukesha, Wisconsin), I went down to the pawn shop and picked her out — a beautiful blue bass guitar that I ended up giving a name to later on, Betsy.  I played countless hours over the next five years, jamming with a number of other musicians, practicing and improvising on my own, playing along with tapes and records.  I experimented with various amps and effects.  Out of necessity, I learned how to use a bass along Lemmy-lines, like a rhythm guitar, but instead of just overdriving it, I ran it through distortion and a bit of chorus into a 200 watt power preamp, down into a 15-inch speaker, with my old 12-inch practice amp taped into the circuit as well.

So, when my daughter asked, “Dad, can I take the bass home?” I had to think — and feel my way through a surprisingly tough decision.  I deliberated over it a long time, both by myself and with my wife.  And at the end, I made the right decision — but it was tough.