Late 70's I was 14. Mom worked nights and wanted some peace and quiet. She bought a godawful red & yellow guitar from the record store. It was barely a step up from a toy and came with a gaudy cheap vinyl case. $20. Signed my brother and me up for guitar lessons.
I was not at all excited by the prospect of being seen walking down the main street of our little town carrying such a cheap guitar. I guess I was a pretty normal, self conscious and vain teenager.

We've been playing for over forty years now. I cannot thank my mother enough for setting us up as musicians. She gave us a lifetime of enjoyment, a fulfilling creative outlet, a circle of fellow musical friends. One of the best things she ever did for us. We didn't have a lot of money and she wasn't foolish enough spend a lot of dough on a guitar if it wasn't going to be something we stuck with. After a few months when it became clear we were serious she bought me a much nicer Suziki dreadnought for twice the price, $40. It came in a real case.

She also traded a little peace and quiet while we were out at our lessons for years of raucous noise once we started playing in bands. Now, I cannot believe how incredibly tolerant not only my parents were but the whole neighbor hood. Half assed classic rock in our basement you could hear clear as day down the block and no one ever complained. The whole house shook.