John was starting to worry about his 12 year old son Jack.
Jack was a D student, and only because John helped complete all of Jack’s homework. Jack wasn’t good at sports. He didn’t have many friends. And it seemed like once a week he was getting called into the principal’s office for some sort of misbehavior. So John told Jack, in a last ditch effort to get his son to commit to something, that Jack was going to join the school band. Jack protested, but John put his foot down.
Then the next day, John got a call at the office. He answered, “Hello?” A voice asked, “Is this John Robertson?” “Yes,” John said. “Jack Robertson’s father?” “…Yes,” John said, a little worried. “This is Sam Thompson, I’m the music teacher at Jack’s school.” John sighed. “What has he done now?”
“Well,” Sam said, “It turns out we have a real Elvis Presley on our hands.”
It took John a second to register, because it caught him by such surprise. That was maybe the kindest thing anyone had ever said about his son. Despite himself, John felt tears burn behind his eyes, a feeling of fatherly pride bubbling up, possibly for the first time ever. His breath caught for a moment before he asked, “Really? Jack is–Jack’s good at music?”
“Oh no no no,” Sam said, “He’s dead on the toilet.”