For everyone witnessing that moment, one truth was undeniable: the way that little boy played was better than many professional guitarists with decades of experience. Did he play like his father? No. Jimi had surpassed both Enrico and Fred.

When my eyes met Enrico’s, my breath stopped. I wanted to scream how happy I was. It felt as though I had lived twenty-seven years just to reach that day—to see him there, waiting for me at the altar of a church.

As I reached the altar, the music paused. ...