Today I smashed an old acoustic guitar from the seventies against a brick wall. It was already damaged well beyond repair and was taking up closet space, so... Yeah. It was the very first guitar I've played, it was an Eko Ranger 12 from the 70'. The laminate was already cracking when I got it and half the tuners were shot so it was essentially a 6 string. My old man would toss it side when ever he felt like out got in his way. He had so many clothes that half of my closet was filled with his clothes while I had few. I had put the stand for it next to the closet door, not in front of it, next to it. He would come in on occasion to get his clothes. He would toss my things around so I took care to put the guitar aside, but that didn't stop him from tossing it when he was in a rush. Eventually the head stock cracked badly and the fucker hid it on the top bunk bed, I confronted him about it and he said he found it like that. Bullshit I saw him throw it on several occasions and it had obviously been thrown again. A friend of the family tried to fix it with some epoxy, it never stayed in tube again. Flash forward almost a decade, I found it in the back of a closet I was cleaning out. Smashing it was oddly unsatisfying.
