Brandon Ciarlo

Professor Ferrara

Intro to Rhetoric and Composition

1 October 2022

Music: The Soul of Family

         Music is strongly rooted in my family, as this is also true in many aspects of life and

culture. My Grandmother owned a music store when she was younger, which is a pretty clear

reason as to why my family is so in love with music. Her love for music had shed on to all of us,

but especially on my cousin Nick and me.

Slamming the door to the outdated and worn out Jeep Liberty our cousins had given my

family, I was frustrated after my third guitar lesson. My mother staired at me in confusion while

the redness in my cheeks got even brighter than before.

“What’s wrong honey? I thought you were enjoying your guitar lessons?” my mother

asked me in concern yet offended by my actions.

“I’m taking a break from guitar mom! It’s too hard, and it’s not even cool. I’ll just

continue with what I’m good at!” I yelled back at my mom. Usually in my life, when I try

something new like a sport, I’m naturally good at it, or it comes easy to me. However, for the

guitar, that was not the case at all, and it infuriated me. This anger that rushed my brain made me

stubborn, “Why try so hard for something when you can try less on other things that will be just

as cool” I constantly emphasized in my head. I felt as if I was alone, no one else except for my
cousin played guitar, so I thought that maybe I wouldn’t fit in. I wasn’t ready to step out of my

comfort zone and try to learn something new when I had easier opportunities like sports in front

of me.  

“You can’t just play sports your whole life, you need something else! Grammy and Nick

are going to be very upset with you,” my mother responded in annoyance. I ignored my mother’s

sassy comments and sat quietly the whole ride home. 

Nick is 8 years older than me, tall and slim with an alternative sense of style, and a brain

much smarter than mine. However, this didn’t stop me from emulating his personality and style

in every way. As a child, I would follow him everywhere and not let him leave my sight. Every

time I would hang out with him, I would come to see him the next time in almost the exact same

outfit that he had on and attempt to mirror his manner. He definitely didn’t notice, but everyone

else did. And with our ages increasing, we began to hang out a lot more, which made it even

more noticeable that I was trying so hard to be a duplicate of him.

“Oh my gosh Brandon, that looked exactly like Nick!” my grandmother would yell in

amazement after I would say something in a way identical to how Nick would say it. I always

took these comments as complements; they made my cheeks blush because it would help me

believe that I was more and more like Nick. Nonetheless, it was always obvious that Nick was

my role model and I wanted to be just like him; especially with his love of playing music.  

It was Thanksgiving 2019, the sun peaked in and out through the partial overcast while

the cool air and breeze shivered our bodies. Our family had gotten together at our aunt and

uncle’s house as we normally do. The fire burned in the fireplace and the turkey had cooked in

the oven, heating up the house while also diffusing a smell that made our mouths water. Being a
part of a large and predominant Italian family, Italian music flowed through the household on the

speakers, while occasionally a family member would chime in with their vocals. I would sing

along in my head but only to the Frank Sinatra songs. I didn’t really like the other ones that I

couldn’t understand, and I would’ve been too embarrassed to sing in front of my family.

Regardless, everyone was happy, we were all together, and we were all served a 5-star

Thanksgiving dinner whipped up by the one and only Mama Ciarlo.

Dinner finished and I proceeded to my usual actions when I’m with my cousin Nick. I

followed him out of the dining room towards his room. He had just moved back with his parents

after living in San Francisco for over 2 years, which explained why his clothes were everywhere

and his bed barely had sheets on it. I noticed him walking over to the only clean corner of his

room, and that was where his 3 guitars sat. As he proceeded to pick up his electric guitar,

butterflies invaded my stomach. It not only reminded me of the times when I tried to play guitar,

but also pointed out the fact that I hadn’t seen my cousin play guitar in forever. The orange hard

wood telecaster fit in his arms and lap like a puzzle piece. He strummed a few chords and tuned

it up a little; I didn’t know how to feel.

“That is so sick Nick,” I nervously told him trying to sound cool and hide the fact that I

was amazed by this simple gesture. My eyes were locked on him, I analyzed his every

movement, and studied it.     

Nick began walking towards the door of his room with the guitar still over his shoulder.

Confused and uncertain, I followed him as he approached the living room where everyone was

buried into the cushions of the three couches that faced the television. The NFL Thanksgiving

games were on, however, everyone in the room instantly redirected their attention right towards
Nick. Everyone began clapping and screaming in excitement, causing a bloom of redness on my

cheeks. I felt embarrassed as I followed Nick, I didn’t want him to play in front of our whole

family. I thought that there were so many people there and that it is so nerve racking and scary to

play in front of all these people. 

“You would have to pay me millions to play guitar in front of all of these people,” I

muttered under my breath. I then questioned my initial thoughts as I was mostly stunned to see

the effect that Nick had on everyone. Nick had lit up the room, he didn’t even make a noise, but

the guitar draped from his shoulders had spoken to the entire room and illuminated everyone’s

smiles and excitement.

Nick dedicated the first song, “Earth Angel”, to our grandmother.  He started strumming

the chords and singing the lyrics, which captivated everyone, but especially, my grandmother. A

rush or jealousy poured over my body. The butterflies suddenly went away, and I was just

focused on Nick’s guitar playing just like how I was when we were in his room. Although my

past with the guitar wasn’t the greatest, my feelings towards it began to lighten up a bit. The way

Nick stood out to everyone provoked the thought of giving guitar a second chance. I considered

the fact that I’d stand out like Nick, rather than not fitting in like I had always believed.

Nick’s concert concluded and I followed him back to his room where he proceeded to put

the guitar back on the stand. Before the guitar reached the stand, he paused, turned around and

asked, “Wait Bran do you want to play it?” I was astonished, almost as if he was reading my

mind. 

“Um… I mean, I guess,” I responded all jittery and nervous again. I took the piece of

wood and sat down on his bed so I could hold the guitar correctly and comfortably. The guitar
felt appropriate in my arms, it fit nicely, like the way it fit in Nicks. It felt warm, it sparked a

smile on my face; I felt like Nick. I dug deep into my brain to remember those three guitar

lessons I had a few years ago, and I was instantly able to remember a few chords to play. And as

I began to play, Nick’s jaw dropped. The smile on Nick and I’s face stayed persistent while that

guitar remained in my lap, making me not want to put it down. My motivation was refueled, I

wanted to learn again.

“Nick, I need an electric guitar dude, this is so fun!” I shouted to Nick in joy. I went

home that night and began my research on electric guitars. A few weeks later, I finally had an

electric guitar of my own, and I couldn’t put it down. I imagined myself being Nick, standing in

front of crowds of people and serenading them, while in reality I was just jamming in my dark

basement with my eyes closed.

If someone told me when I was in 7th grade that I would be a somewhat fluent guitar

player, I wouldn’t believe them in the slightest. The motivation that my cousin gave to me helped

me uncover a love in my life that had always been there but was so hard to find and achieve. 

I’ve played my guitar almost every day since that Thanksgiving, which also changed heavily

from my earlier experiences with the instrument. I went from being so frustrated with it, to being

obsessed about it after gaining the motivation I needed to get through the difficulties of learning.

Today, Nick and I stand side by side with guitars in our hands, writing music and playing

together in front of even more people than just family. His fluency in this discourse flowed

directly on to me.