A Father Started Charging His 18-Year-Old Son $250 a Month for His Room – Five Years Later, the Young Man Received a Box That Turned His Life Upside Down

Yet there it was, sitting on a stand with fresh strings.

I picked it up, turning it over in my hands.

Someone had even repaired the crack near the bridge.

My throat tightened.

For the first time, I wondered whether Dad had built this place for someone other than himself.

For me.

But why would he? And why did he grow to hate music so much?

I lowered the guitar carefully onto its stand.

On the table beside the mixing desk sat a small flash drive.

I picked it up and noticed a piece of tape wrapped around it. In Dad's handwriting were two words:

"Our Band."

A computer stood nearby. I plugged in the drive and found a single video file.

I clicked "Play."

The screen flickered, then filled with grainy footage of four young men rehearsing in a cramped garage.