Most students on campus got excited whenever spring break came along. Many of them would plan luxurious getaways, with every expense being covered by their plump trust funds. Then there were an odd handful of students who were not leaving campus for the break. These were the kids not blessed with a silver spoon in their mouths and were attending the extremely expensive private school through a scholarship given out by the schools. Most kids on scholarship were so smart the school wanted to use their intellect to help them compete with other schools with regard to academic competitions. But when spring break came around, most of them either couldn't afford to fly home or really had no one to visit. To accommodate them, the school left one proctor from the dormitories there to watch over them during the week off. It was never hard to find a volunteer from the proctors as the person chosen would get double pay for their efforts. He kept those kids busy by assigning them chores, such as cleaning up labs or even polishing music instruments. When it came to the choice between the two tasks, most would choose to take the instruments as while cleaning spit from horns was bad, there was no telling how gross the beakers and test tubes left in the science labs were. This was Maxwell's lucky day when he drew the music room. He happily strolled down to the large classroom where all the instruments were on display and some of them were badly in need of a polish. But when Maxwell opened the door to the music room, there was another person in there waiting for him. The man was sitting on a desk and has an instrument of his own, a blue electric guitar that was plugged into a small amp that was sitting on the same desk. He was wearing black dress pants and had a white dress shirt but wore no tie, and had the sleeves rolled up. He was strumming a blues tune on the guitar that the young boy couldn't recognize but the man was very good. The sound echoed through the music room well, but it wasn't too loud to bother him. The man playing looked quite old, as Maxwell had to guess he was at least in his late fifties, if not older. Maxwell stood there at the door, holding his cloth and a bucket of water with a special cleaner mixed into clean the instruments.
"Hello," Maxwell said, looking at the older man before him. "Do you work here?"
"I do not." The man said, before strumming off a few more chords, making his guitar sound like it was crying.
"Oh… okay," Maxwell said, gesturing to the horns on the other side of the room. "Do you mind if I get to work? I don't mind if you play but I have some cleaning to do."
"As a matter of fact," The older man said as he stopped playing, "I do mind."
"You do?" Maxwell repeated. He had no idea how to respond further.
"I do," the older man said as he smiled, "This is a terrible waste of time for someone as bright as you, Maxwell."
"How do you know my name?" Maxwell asked, suddenly quite nervous.
"I've been watching you for a while, Max." The old man replied, "I work for a secret institute funded by the government, and we keep an eye out for great young talent that could make a major contribution to science and our nation."
"Who are you?" Maxwell finally asked, trying not to be rude.
"My name is Buckaroo Banzai." The old man answered.
"Buckaroo?" Maxwell repeated, looking at him weirdly. "Seriously? Who names their kid Buckaroo?"
"That would be my father, Masado Banzai." Buckaroo replied, "My Dad was a big fan of American Westerns, so I was named Buckaroo. Mom seemed to go along with it because she was a big fan of alliterations."
"Masado?" Maxwell repeated again, "He sounds foreign."
"He was," Buckaroo confirmed, "He was born in Japan."
"You don't look Japanese." Maxwell observed, because he clearly didn't.
"That's because I look like my mother," Buckaroo continued, "I also got the best of both worlds, being raised by two people brought up in totally different backgrounds. The fact they were both brilliant scientists was kinda helpful as well."
"And you work for an institute?" Maxwell asked, trying to pay attention.
"It's mine actually," Buckaroo corrected him, "I founded and run the entity known as the Banzai Institute."
"I've never heard of it," Maxwell said.
"We made some headlines in the eighties," Buckaroo explained, "But we had an unfortunate mishap with another dimension, and the government insisted we keep on the down low to prevent any more incidents like that. They agreed to all my funding requests and since my popularity lead to some of the conflict, I agreed to go underground and do all our work in secret."
"What's your field?" Maxwell inquired.
"I don't mean to brag," Buckaroo said, smiling at the young boy. "But I'm a particle physicist, a neurosurgeon, a test pilot, and the lead man of my own band."
"Whoa," Max said, taking it all in. "Didn't expect that answer."
"I'm a man with many hats, Max." Buckaroo continued, "Far too many to mention right now, but I've come a long way to meet you. I hope you'll give me a bit of your time so we can talk."
"Why have you been watching me?" Max then asked. "Are you mental?"
"No," Buckaroo answered, "But I have been ionized. I'm okay now."
"So why the secret surveillance?" Max inquired.
"That's a fair question," Buckaroo said, strumming a few more cords to buy him some time. "I could tell you the same answer we usually get about looking for recruits; that you're the lucky guy we want to recruit but its total bullshit. I'm here because of one simple reason: family."
"Family?" Maxwell repeated.
"Yes, Family." Buckaroo confirmed. "How much has your mother told you about her family?"
"Not much really," Maxwell answered, "She was raised by her mother, so I only know Grandma and her side of the family."
"Fair enough," Buckaroo said, strumming again.
"You're not going to tell me you're my father, are you?" the boy then asked.
"Do I look the right age to be your father?" Buckaroo countered.
"Well you are rather old," Maxwell concurred.
"Gee, thanks." Buckaroo said, chuckling to himself. "I'm not your father, but to ease the suspense, your mother is my daughter. One of a few kids I got running around this part of the world. She never said anything about me?"
"Nope," Maxwell replied, "And I would remember, because you don't hear about people named Buckaroo that often."
"Good point," Buckaroo said, as he finally stopped playing. "Well I'm here now, and I'd like to take you the Banzai Institute."
"Why?" Maxwell asked.
"Because you're one of us, Max." Buckaroo said, "Like I said before, I've been watching you for a while and your grades are through the damn roof. You're far too smart for this place and it's time to bump you up to a bigger challenge."
"How do you know I'm even here?" Max asked.
"You're not on a scholarship," Buckaroo replied, "The Institute has been footing the bill for a while. I also pushed for your admittance."
"How did you do that?" Max inquired.
Buckaroo smiled. "Once they knew who your grandfather was, they couldn't admit you into their school fast enough."
"How do they know you?" Maxwell retorted, "I thought you were on the down low?"
"I am," Buckaroo said, "They know me because I used to be their student, which is why I wanted you to attend here. I was eager to see if you were smart enough to join me at the institute."
"This is too much," Maxwell said, as he took a seat.
"It's spring break, Max." Buckaroo reminded him, "You have some spare time. Let's take the jet to the institute and you can get out of here for a while."
"The jet?" Maxwell repeated, stunned.
"Yeah," Buckaroo said, smiling. "We have a private sesna waiting for us. Test pilot, remember?"
"I don't think I can," Max declined, "Mom would never approve of this."
"She's already signed off," Buckaroo replied, "So did the school. You'd be surprised what you can get away with using a fat cheque book."
It suddenly dawned on Maxwell. "You're rich, aren't you?"
"Let's put it this way, filthy just doesn't do my situation justice." Buckaroo replied, as he unplugged his guitar from the amp. "But that doesn't mean squat to me. It doesn't define a person's character or their value to the institute. You're going to learn that when you get there."
"Okay," Maxwell said, putting the rag down as he realized that he wouldn't be cleaning a single horn or beaker for the entire week. "Let's go."
"Good man," Buckaroo said, passing the small amp to him. "Carry this, and let's get packing. Then I'll give you your first flying lesson."
"Really?" Maxwell asked, his face stunned.
"No not really," Buckaroo replied, laughing. "But maybe one day if you're lucky."
"Just one thing," Maxwell then stated.
"What is it?" Buckaroo asked.
"I'm not calling you Buckaroo," Maxwell informed him.
"Okay," Buckaroo said, "You could always call me Grandpa, Gramps, Opa, Pappi, or even granddad. I've always liked O Jiichan myself. Any of those would work."
"Nevermind," Maxwell said, as he took the amp from his grandfather. "Let's get the hell out of here, Buckaroo."