The truth is he had an amazing middle school band teacher when he was but a young lad.

He was depressed and became completely withdrawn from other kids, hardly speaking unless he was forced into a situation that required it.

He had an awful home life and didn't know what to do with himself, when he came upon the music program and was invited in with a warm smile by the music teacher.

At first he was reluctant to speak, he didn't trust anybody, didn't like anybody -- and this wasn't going to change with something as superficial as a nice smile.

But he became intrigued by the all the equipment, the musical instruments, violins, pianos, drums, wood winds, percussions, strings.

The teacher offered to let the boy listen to him play if he was interested, to get a sense of what instrument he liked, and what he might be interested in trying to play himself.

The young boy remained silent, but nodded and relaxed his tense stance. Well, soon enough the boy fully realized the meaning of the saying "Like music to my ears" because he fell in love with the melodies.

The teacher sensed that the uneasy listener was a special case, a troubled youth that needed structure and guidance, needed a hobby, needed something to pour his time and efforts into, something gratifying that would give him a sense of purpose.

The boy discovered music as his true passion, and came under direct personal tutelage of the teacher -- often staying after school for a jam session once he became good enough.

His love of the music only heightened as he increased in skill, and so did his self respect and personal esteem. The teacher soon came to realize in their few short years together that the boy he had taken under his wing made tremendous strides in his social relationships, academics, and musical ability.

But all good things must come to an end eventually, and the boy was soon to graduate middle school with flying colors. On the day of, after the ceremonies, the boy went to the music room to talk with his mentor.

The music teacher told the boy that he was overjoyed to see him become the person he was today, and that although he was sad that their time together had come to an end, that he was happy for him and better off for the experience.

The man told his student that he wasn't sure, but he thought that he had showed him what it was like to have son.

The teacher desperately encouraged the boy to continue with his musical education, that he not only had talent, but his persistence and dedication made him a rare prospect.

If not to make a living of, then at least to continue with the hobby and passion for his own personal well being and development. The teacher extended his hand, but rather than accept it, the boy hugged him briefly and left.

The next few years were tougher on the boy -- the internal issues with his parents taking a turn for the worse, friendships that came and went, but throughout all of it the music was his rock, the foundation on which he remained strong.

In his mind, he said a word of thanks to his teacher, and not for the first time, for turning him on a better path. More years passed and while at college, he heard through the grapevine that his former music teacher had become severely ill, and he wasn't given much time left.

Though he hadn't thought of the man much if at all in the last few years, he knew that he must see him again. He bussed several hours back to his home town and went to the single hospital within its limits.

When he spoke to the receptionist, he realized that he didn't know the man's first name, and so he asked by using the surname preceded by "Mr." .

Following their conversation he was allowed to see him, and told that he was both conscious and lucid. When he entered the room, a look of confusion crossed the old man's face.

No, not confusion, the older boy -- now a man himself, had realized. It was one of surprise - one that brightened noticeably at his entrance.

The man took in his surroundings and noted there were no flowers, no cards, not even a chair for another person to sit in. He learned that the old man had no family or friends to speak of, none that would care enough to come visit him on his deathbed at least.

They spoke for hours and hours, catching up on what had happened in their lives since they had last met on that graduation day many years ago.

The man assured his former teacher that he had kept on practicing music to this day and it was every bit as much apart of his life as it was then, perhaps more so.

The dying man grew weary, and it grew later and later into the evening, but before the night's end he wanted to hear a song. The man had taken his Saxophone with him when he traveled there for that very purpose.

He played an original song of his own creation for him first, and then jammed for a few minutes more -- clearly showcasing his prowess.

The tired old music teacher grinned ear to ear, gave him praise for honing his talent to this degree, and relaxed visibly in his bed, saying that it was time for him to go to sleep.

It occurred to the young man that he had no place to sleep when he decided to make the trip, and he could not get back home as it was too late to travel.

After speaking with hospital staff about the issue, he was allowed to stay in the room of his old music teacher. Sitting on the hard chair he had grabbed previously for the visitation, he fell asleep with some difficulty near to the man who was more a father in those few short years than his father had even been.

When he awoke he realized that his former teacher did not survive the night. The loss upset him more than he realized it ever could, and for the next year he hardly played any of his instruments, realizing it drudged up memories which were now too painful to recall.

Until one morning he saw a young boy with his friends in the park struggling to play the recorder he had gotten from a mandatory second grade music class, and stopped to listen.

The boy was disappointed and sad that he could not make it sound like it did from the instructions they were given, and he was having difficulty going over the individual steps to correct the issue he was having.

Overhearing his problem, the man in mourning stopped to talk to the kids, telling them that he was a practiced musician for most of his life and would be happy to show the boy what his problem was if he could help.

Having some experience with recorders as well as various other flutes, the man identified the issue he was having playing the piece properly.

When the boy didn't understand his first explanation, he tried a few more before coming up with a simplified analogy that the boy could understand better.

Seeing his look of frustration turn to one of pure joy as he hit the right notes and rectified his problematic habits, the man couldn't help but smile himself.

The boy's parents soon came over and he could hardly contain his excitement to them as he relayed the events of what had transpired, how he really enjoyed playing music, and that he wanted to learn to play other instruments in the future.

The parents asked the man if he was a music teacher, and he began to say that he was just someone who enjoyed playing music in his spare time -- but stopped himself.

He thought of the joy the kid had experienced at learning to play, he considered his own satisfaction at imparting the same knowledge he had been given as a child himself, and what's more, he was surprised to realize that the encounter had been painless -- it didn't dredge up memories that hurt to recall, but made them happy once again.

He stopped mid sentence and corrected himself. No, he explained to the boy's parents, he was not one yet, but that soon enough he would be.

At least that's what I'm guessing the reason is, because it wouldn't make much sense otherwise.