The carnage of the American Civil War was extreme even by today's standards- and medical techniques and knowledge in the 1860's would tend to look barbaric in 21st-century eyes. After a battle between Union and Confederate soldiers, the wounded would be gathered up and tended to. In Union field hospitals, Union soldiers would receive first care, with enemy Confederate soldiers given a much lower priority. Often during their wait, the Confederate soldiers' wounds would be visited by flies, and before long, maggots would appear in the wounds from eggs laid by the flies. Funny thing about maggots, though - they only eat infected flesh, not the healthy stuff. As a result, the Confederate soldiers who received delayed (if any) care would walk away with infection-free, quickly-healing wounds. The Union soldiers tended to suffer infections at a far greater rate, resulting in amputations and sometimes death.
My parents had no formal musical training themselves, but they believed deeply in the importance of thier kids' receiving musical education - firstly through piano lessons. As the youngest of three siblings, I couldn't wait to start piano lessons. My enthusiasm waned quickly after the first year, though, and even then - when I was six - the joy of making musical sound appeared to have as much to do with piano lessons as quantum mechanics. I learned, but the closest I ever came to fun or real musical inspiration was when my teacher would play something especially musical. I stuck doggedly with the piano for about eight years, with all the enthusiasm of a groom at a shotgun wedding. By then, I was old enough to join the band program at school, and my dad wanted me to be the next Guy Lombardo anyway. I studied the saxophone for the next eight years, in high school and university - and the more formal and demanding my education became - the more I played guitar.
Funny thing about the guitar - it was the one instrument my parents would not buy. My sisters and I shared a piano, and I got my older sister's hand-me-down alto sax for school - but if I wanted to play guitar, I'd just have to save up and buy it for myself - which is exactly what I did. Summer of '79, in beautifully hot and sunny weather, I brought home a Lyle (later called Aria) SG-copy electric guitar with Vagabond (aka Garnet) amplifier for the princely sum of $75. It had ancomfortably chunky neck, wimpy pick-ups, a bizarre and de-tuning jazzmaster-style trem, and a one-sound-only (clean) tube amp - but I was in heaven.
The point I make with these disparate stories may seem an odd one, coming from a guy who has taught quite a lot of music in the classroom over the years. I've read the life stories of dozens of classical composers, and it's rather telling how many of them as children rebelled against the formality and structure of formal musical education. Sometimes giving someone more than what they hunger for is more damaging than giving them quite a bit less. The key to learning is the hunger to learn - and a good teacher is quicker to foster that hunger than they are to answer all questions or force memorizations and technical excercises. Despite years of teaching, it took me quite a few years to really take this to heart and put it to use. We tend to hunger for things that are just out of reach, and we may even be happier before attaining them than after, in many cases. This may apply to musicians, music listeners, teachers and younger siblings - but definitely confederate soldiers.