My father is a remarkably talented guitarist. I used to think he was "good" as a kid, but it wasn't until I was older that I realized just how "good" he actually was. I vividly remember being home from college over the holidays one year, listening to some Rory Gallagher ('74 Irish Tour), and he just casually started following along with Rory's lead in Tatoo'd Lady. That's when it first clicked to me.
He was born in NYC and did all the terrible things that any kid would do in NYC in the '70s. But when my brother and I were suddenly a thing my parents picked up and moved north to the Adirondacks so that we, presumably, wouldn't do all the terrible things that any kid would do in NYC in the '80s.
While there is obviously no telling whether or not he would have become a successful musician by staying down in the city, there is no doubt in my mind that he was, in some small way, giving up on his dream by moving out of the city in an effort to give us a chance at a more, I suppose "wholesome", life as kids.