“Dad, I don’t want to play the guitar! I want to play the piano.” Jimmy said.

“That’s great, Jimmy! But you have to play fast like Little Richard! And playing the piano with your feet wouldn’t be a bad idea, either. Oh, you’re gonna be a fantastic rock star!” his dad said, practically swelling with pride.

“Dad, listen to me. I. Don’t. Want. To. Rock.”

“What? What do you mean you don’t want to rock?” his dad asked.

“I want to play classical music. You know, Beethoven and Bach. Stuff like that.” Jimmy said.

His dad looked dejected for a second. Then, his face turned a bright shade of red.

“YOU WANT TO PLAY CLASSICAL MUSIC?!”

Jimmy braced for the coming storm.

“I WAS THE GUITARIST IN ONE OF THE GREATEST ROCK BANDS OF ALL TIME! YOUR MOTHER WAS THE FIRST FEMALE PUNK ROCK SINGER! YOU HAVE TO ROCK!” his dad yelled.

With those lungs, you should have been the singer. Jimmy thought to himself.

“Dad, I don’t care what you say! I’m going to play classical music! And I’m getting rid of my green mohawk, too!”