My Dad Started Charging Me $250 a Month for My Room When I Turned 18 — Five Years Later, After His Funeral, His Best Friend Handed Me a Box
The storage unit was not empty.
It held mixing desks, microphones, amplifiers, acoustic panels, and the black guitar with the silver star sticker.
Frank had been paying for the space for years.
He had never missed a month.
He had never told me the unit was meant for me.
Walter, the landlord, said Frank had kept paying even when he stopped buying equipment.
When Walter asked why he was holding on to the unit, Frank said he was not ready to give up the space.
He never said it was for his son.
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