It was mine now.
I could record music, sell the equipment, or pursue something entirely different.
“I don’t want you to feel like you owe me forgiveness,” he said. “I just want you to have a chance.”
Then he added:
“Open the drawer beneath the mixing desk.”Buy Studio Mics
I watched him wipe his eyes.
“I wish I’d been a better father. I wish we’d had more time. And I wish I’d told you how proud I am of you.”
He looked directly into the camera.
“I love you, son. I always have.”
The recording ended.
I sat there crying.
Eventually, I opened the drawer.
Inside was a wooden box containing sixty envelopes.
Each was marked with a month and year.
I opened the first.
Two hundred-dollar bills and a fifty.
The second contained the same amount.
So did the third.
Sixty envelopes. Every $250 rent payment I’d made over five years.