MY SON SOLD HIS PRIZED GUITAR TO BUY A CLASSMATE A WHEELCHAIR, THEN THE POLICE RATTLED OUR FRONT DOOR
The empty guitar stand in my thirteen-year-old son’s room was the first sign something had shifted. David lived for that instrument; it was his sanctuary, his voice. When I confronted him, expecting teenage excuses, he looked me in the eye and said he’d sold it to Mr. Keller from church for $850. His reason? His…