My dad has been playing guitar basically all his life. He's sort

In the words of Dylan Minnette, “My dad has been playing guitar basically all his life. He’s sort of who got me into rock music.” — we hear not just a son’s gratitude, but the eternal song of inheritance, of one generation passing its fire to the next. Within these humble words lies the ancient rhythm of human tradition: the father shaping the son, not through command, but through inspiration. It is a simple confession, yet profound — for what greater legacy can a parent leave than the gift of passion, the gift of art, the gift of a calling that outlives them?

Music, like love, cannot be taught — it must be felt, absorbed, lived. And when Minnette speaks of his father’s lifelong devotion to the guitar, we glimpse the timeless image of the craftsman, the dreamer, the one who has made beauty his companion through the seasons of life. The father’s strings carried not only melody, but meaning — shaping the heart of his child before the boy could even name the feeling. Thus, the boy who watched became the man who listened, and the man who listened became the artist who played. Such is the way of all living traditions: from one flame, another is lit, until the world shines brighter than before.

In the ancient days, this lineage of inspiration was revered as sacred. The sculptor Phidias taught his apprentices to carve the divine from stone; the philosopher Socrates passed wisdom to Plato, who carried it into eternity; and the bard who sang beneath the olive trees gave his songs to his children, so that they too might keep the stories alive. In each of these, as in Minnette’s reflection, the truth remains: every gift we inherit carries a duty — not only to cherish it, but to continue it. To take the music of the father and make it one’s own is not imitation, but evolution.

When Dylan says, “He’s who got me into rock music,” it is not merely about genre or sound. It is a testament to the power of influence, to how the quiet presence of a parent’s passion can shape the destiny of a child. For in every strum, every note, there is an unspoken lesson: that art is not something to possess, but something to live by. The father did not push his son toward music; he simply lived it — and in living it, he awakened it in another soul. This is how legacies are born, not from instruction, but from example.

There is beauty, too, in the humility of his words. He does not boast of greatness, but acknowledges origin. Too often, those who rise forget the roots from which they grew. But Minnette reminds us that success without gratitude is hollow. By naming his father as his guide, he restores honor to the bond between teacher and student, between parent and child. The ancients would have called this pietas — the sacred respect owed to one’s origins, the recognition that no melody, however new, is ever entirely our own.

The lesson, then, is twofold. To the young: remember the hands that taught you, the voices that shaped your dreams. No greatness stands alone; all art, all wisdom, all strength is the echo of those who came before. And to the elders: do not underestimate the quiet power of your example. The child who watches you work, who sees you love something deeply, will carry your flame further than you could ever imagine. Each act of devotion — whether to art, craft, or kindness — plants seeds in unseen hearts.

And so, children of the present and keepers of tomorrow, let this be your truth: passion is inheritance. Whatever your gift — be it song, wisdom, or courage — give it freely to those who come after. Do not guard it; let it breathe and grow in new hands. For as Dylan Minnette’s words remind us, every melody begins with one who first heard the sound of love and followed it. Be that source for someone else. Play your life’s music with honesty and fire, and someday, another will say of you: “They’re the one who got me into the song of my life.”