Six of Ten: Bob Thompson

My graduation party. June 2008

Anyone that knows me more than to just say hello to knows who Bob is. For those of you that read this and don't know who Bob is, you're about to find out. I was going to save him for the last influence post, but after having dinner with him yesterday, I can't wait that long.

Bob is my favorite person in the world. He's my second-dad, my guitar teacher, my go-to guy to talk about anything with. He's the greatest. I adore that man like you wouldn't believe. Let's put it this way: my mom once said, "If Bob told you to jump off a bridge, you would." I replied, "...Yeah, but Bob would never tell me to jump off a bridge so we don't have to worry about that." I told that to him yesterday over our every-six-weeks-or-so-catch-up-dinner-now-that-I'm-back-in-school dinner. He laughed, and he agreed because he knows it's true.

I met Bob through a mutual friend/guitar player when I was sixteen. I had just finished up lessons with my former teacher Tom. At my last lesson with Tom, he said, "I've taught you everything I can teach you. You gotta go to Bob." Mark (mutual friend/guitar player) was very adamant about me taking lessons with Bob. So I emailed him, told him my shpeel (Berklee, pop/rock/blues lover, Eric Clapton freak, etc...), and shortly after that I began taking lessons with Bob. I had no idea how much impact that one email would have on me.

My first lesson was sometime in May of 2007. I had never met Bob before, I'd only emailed him a few times. The second I walked into his house, it was an instantaneous friendship. A typical guitar lesson is an hour long. My first lesson with Bob was two. My second lesson was three. My third lesson was four. You get the idea. I think the longest lesson I've ever had was six hours. It was a lesson, a clinic, and just some hang time with Bob. It was almost like we'd known each other forever and we were (I should say are) making up for lost time. My friends kind of hated my lessons during the summer because I'd be gone from 4.15 to at least 9.00. Often times I wouldn't pull into my driveway until 10.

Now the entire time wasn't spent playing. Bob and I like to talk a lot. A lot. We talk about everything. It's one of the best and it's probably the most natural friendship I've ever had with anyone. I trust him one hundred percent, which is why I can tell him anything. Not only do we talk a lot, we laugh a lot. Just last night, I set him up perfectly for a joke. It was great. I make fun of him, he makes fun of me. It's all good. He tries to get my going, and sometimes I let him because it's all in good fun.

When I left for school last year, I didn't cry when I said goodbye (temporarily, of course) to anyone. Except for when I said goodbye to Bob. It was heart-wrenching. I get sad just thinking about it. I was sad again when I said goodbye to him in August. It was a different kind of sad, but nonetheless, I was not happy, and it was not easy. I kept prolonging leaving. He could tell, and he didn't try to stop me. I would often play that game with him even in lessons. I love spending time with him. There'd be a lull, I'd quickly glance at the clock, and it would be way too early to call it a night (often times this would be about two and a half hours into a lesson). So I'd ask a question, or say something and we'd start right up again. To this day I still do this with people.

Anyway, back to Bob. Before I met Bob, my friends would ask me what I did with my life before guitar came into the picture. I don't know, really. I did what everyone else did, and I still do, only now guitar takes up much more of my free time. Now my friends ask me who did I have before Bob. And honestly, I don't know. To think about not knowing Bob is very strange to me. He fit right into my life instantly. I can't imagine him not being there. I survived sixteen years without him. It's funny how that happens.

When I would go on vacation, no matter how much fun I was having, part of me couldn't wait to get back home and have a lesson/hang with Bob. We'd play, we'd eat, we'd talk, we'd play, and he became such a part of my routine. He still is. My lessons (up until this summer) were on Mondays. Most kids hate Monday because it's the start of the school week. I loved Mondays (I still do) because it meant that two hours after I got home from high school that I would get ready for my weekly God-knows-how-long lesson.

I've grown exponentially as a musician thanks to Bob. Everything about my skills as a musician are better thanks to him. I don't think I'd be at Berklee if it weren't for him. He (and others) say(s) otherwise, but I don't.

Yesterday my mom said (in reference to me enjoying coming home once in a while), "She gets to see all the people she loves, her mother, her father, her sister, her friends, Bob, and she gets to play her guitar...Let me put that in the correct order: she loves BOB, her guitar, her mother, her father, her sister, and her friends. She won't deny it, either. And we know it's true." It is. For example, I went home for a long weekend in February not to see my parents, but to go out to dinner with Bob.

I would not be the same person had I not met Bob. I can't think of anyone that has had so much of an impact on me so fast. He's one of the greatest people I have ever met, and the person (with the exception of a few high school friends that aren't in Boston) I by far miss the most when I'm not in Maine.

Clearly, I could go on for hours about Bob. I miss him big time when I'm here at Berklee. As much as I love it here, I often catch myself counting down the days (46 or 47) until I get to see Bob again.

What do I do now? I just get lost in my college life, which I love almost as much as Bob.