Then someone stepped into the frame.
"We've got his back, buddy."
Frank.
He placed a hand on Dad's shoulder.
"We've got his back, buddy."
Two other men appeared beside him. I recognized them from the old photographs on the walls.
The bassist grinned.
Dad laughed.
"Besides, once you're gone, we're going to need a new guitarist."
"And a singer," the drummer added. "Preferably one who can actually hit the high notes."
Dad laughed, wiping his face.
"You hear that, son? Apparently, they're already planning to replace me."
"One last thing."
He looked at his old bandmates, then back at the camera.
"Seriously, though. These idiots have been my friends for most of my life. They'll help you if you want to give music a shot. And if you don't, they'll respect that too."
The men stepped away, leaving Dad alone again.
"One last thing. Open the drawer under the mixing desk. There's something in there to help you get started."
