At about 12 years old, I decided to learn how to play guitar. The spark for such came almost directly from playing air guitar on a tennis racket to the music of Kiss.

I thought that band, famous for its makeup, was the best thing since…well, the best thing ever, actually.

Kiss songs were the soundtrack of my teen years. My walls were adorned with their posters. I bought magazines featuring them. I bought every record/8-track/cassette they ever released. If they were on television, I planned life around being in front of the tube to see it. They were absolutely larger than life in my skinny, pale, bell-bottomy view.

And, the first song I ever played worth a hoot guitar-wise? “Calling Dr. Love” — by them.

Through it all, I was bombarded with talk from folks — mainly because of their appearance — that they were demonic, that Kiss was merely an acronym for any number of things associated with the devil, etc. (which to me all sounded much like stuff said about Elvis Presley a generation earlier).

Heck, I just liked their music and thought they were cool. I left all the sociopathic and psychological evaluations to folks who were clearly much smarter than me.

OK, so fast forward 40 or so years. I won’t get into all of the who/what/how of the backstory, which is another “long, boring” column for another day. Let’s just suffice it to say through some divine intervention, I was afforded an opportunity to take my family and a star student to see Kiss in Atlanta.

En route to the show, I read that the previous night Kiss and co-headliner Def Leppard had spearheaded the presentation of a mortgage-free home to an American veteran in Nashville, Tenn. The band had already hired two veterans as road managers for the tour and offered every American veteran a special discount and preferential seating for any of their shows.

On top of that, a portion of every ticket sale for their concerts goes toward a handful of military-related nonprofit organizations, including the U.S. Chamber of Commerce Foundation’s Hiring Our Heroes program.

Instead of inviting rocker friends, the band hosted veterans’ families as their guests of honor at their long-overdue induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame this summer. Bassist Gene Simmons told the vets in attendance that those awards that night paled in comparison to the Purple Hearts and Combat Action Ribbons on their chests. Singer Paul Stanley insisted the vets were “America’s” guests of honor.

After Phil Robertson of “Duck Dynasty” was suspended last year from the show after sharing his personal views, one of his most outspoken supporters was Stanley.  “Duck Dynasty — Yank people off TV if we don’t agree with their views in a magazine interview? You want your views heard-allow others same right. Don’t want to be penalized for your views? You can’t penalize someone for theirs, that’s more offensive than their words,” he tweeted.

When a fan responded that a TV network had the right to protect views that were offensive to its employees, Stanley shot back, “Great POV until it’s you who is judged offensive and harmed from it. Trust me.”

So here we were, surrounded by the huge production of the Kiss concert, 19,000 fans there. Stanley and Simmons, not spring chickens anymore, mind you, worked as hard as anyone I’ve ever seen live. The show was amazing.

But the moment of the night came when Stanley fell to his knees in the middle of the stage, and with all of the spotlights on him, sincerely, quietly asked the crown a question.

“I really feel I need to ask y’all something. How many of you folks pray?”

A nervous smattering of applause was the reply.

“Well, I do…and I am here to tell you that there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t fall on my knees, look up, and say “thank you God for everything you’ve done in my life and for giving me the chance to do something I love…” Every single one of us need to be praying every single day, because we’re all more blessed than we will ever know. Don’t you forget it.”

He paused, let the words sink. A thunderous ovation followed.

I don’t know that many of those 19,000 expected to have their relationship with God brought into question at a Kiss concert, but make no mistake — they did. The moment was not preachy, not even religious really. But based on the looks of some faces around me, it absolutely hit the target.

Now in his 60s, Simmons is married, has grown kids and is known as a “strict” parent. Stanley is a parent, too, and his own parents were survivors of the Holocaust. I cannot help but wonder if the years have placed a bit of perspective into these men’s lives and their view of the world, now having matured to see that spotlight and stage as a chance to light a positive spark in the people they have a chance to impact.

To summarize, last Saturday night Paul Stanley, the lead singer of Kiss, dropped to his knees, humbly, openly professed his faith,and challenged 19,000 people about their relationship with God.

What were you doing last Saturday night?

Remember that old thing about the book and its cover? Seems it applies even if the cover is greasepaint.