Percussion
Chapter 8

Tipping Points

The Monday morning sun shone into Bulma's bedroom as she lowered the lid of her suitcase, struggling to zip the luggage shut. She managed to pull the slider about halfway around before it stopped, becoming hopelessly stuck. Her slim fingers tugged vainly at the tab for a few moments before she gave up, unzipping the bag entirely and taking out a few items.

After all, she figured, she didn't really need three extra pairs of shoes for a two day trip. She just liked to be prepared.

Bulma rubbed her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. She had spent most of the last two-and-a-half weeks holed up in her lab, trying to find some clue to the mysterious ills plaguing the elder Trunks' timeline. As a result, she'd left most of the day-to-day affairs of running the business side of Capsule Corp to other executives. But her research was quickly going nowhere, and this meeting was far too important to be left to junior managers. If all went well, it could be her ticket to acquiring a major research and development rival in Pepper City.

The woman set the shoes and a few other things aside before returning to close the suitcase. She probably could have asked her husband to help with the task, but even assuming he would be willing, he would probably break the suitcase while he was at it. The same went for her young son. Meanwhile, she hadn't seen the eighteen-year-old Trunks all morning.

Bulma hummed to herself as she stepped into her bathroom to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything. The meeting wouldn't take place until the next afternoon, but she wanted to get settled in Pepper City so she could prepare for the meeting in the comfort of a hotel room, rather than in the cabin of a passenger train.

She looked around her room a last time. Finally, satisfied that she hadn't forgotten anything, she walked into the hallway and toward her eleven-year-old son's room.

Bulma shook her head as she strode down the corridor. She had promised to take Trunks with her the next time she went on a trip to Pepper City, and now the time had come to make good. The city had one of the most famous amusement parks in the region, and while she couldn't understand why a boy who could fly at lightning speeds would be so excited by the prospect of a roller coaster and some cotton candy, a promise was still a promise.

Ah well, she thought to herself. She had never pretended to understand the way little boys' minds work.

She knocked on the door, cracking it open slowly. "Honey?" She saw Trunks sitting on his bed, still in his pajamas and seemingly staring at the light fixture on his ceiling. "Are you packed yet? Our train leaves at one."

"Huh?" The boy shook his head, looking turning to his mother. "Oh, hi mom, did you say something?"

"Trunks?" She walked over to her son's bed, a slight worry coming over her. Trunks wasn't usually one for staring off into space; something was bothering him. "Is everything okay?" She sat down at the edge of the bed, looking carefully at her young son. "Is something bothering you, sweetheart?"

Trunks frowned in response. "No, not really. Um, have you seen, uh, other-me around today?"

Bulma would have laughed at her son's phrasing, had she not been concerned about what could possibly be on his mind. "No, why?" She wasn't exactly surprised that the teenager hadn't made an appearance yet. He had looked positively exhausted when she ran into him the evening before, and she assumed that he'd had a late Saturday night out with Gohan and his friends. The time traveler probably needed the rest.

"Do you know when he's planning on going back?"

"What?" Bulma had been afraid of this. She could understand why Trunks might be disturbed by the presence of an older, alternate version of himself in his own home, but she had hoped—based on how they seemed to be getting along—that it wouldn't become an issue.

"No," Bulma continued, "he hasn't said anything. Why? Did something happen between you two?"

"Um, kinda." Trunks bit his lip, obviously hesitant to reveal whatever was on his mind.

"Trunks, if something is wrong, I need to know."

"I heard him talking to Gohan yesterday. He said something about . . ." Trunks trailed off, looking down at his bedsheets.

A whole new worry settled in as she took in her son's pensive features. "Trunks, what did he say?"

The boy looked back up at his mother. "He said something about going back for Buu."

The tension in Bulma's chest gave way to full-blown shock. "What? When?"

"I don't know," Trunks said, fiddling with the edge of his bedsheet. "I don't think he said. I was kind of listening in." The boy looked out at his window. "Whatever, I shouldn't have told you."

"Of course you had to tell me!" Bulma shook her head, stunned that her son would even consider keeping this sort of information from her. "I'm going to go talk to him. You get packed up in the meantime, okay?"

The child turned back toward her. "Are you still going to Pepper City today?"

"I need to," she replied. "Do you still want to come with me? You don't have to."

"I mean, yeah, I'd like to, if you're going anyway."

Bulma smiled at her son, unable to help but notice the subtle expression of guilt on his face. "And you were right to tell me about this. Now get packed."

"You get out of bed this instant."

The teenager opened his eyes. The first sight that greeted him was a very irate-looking Bulma standing over him, looking for all the world like she was about to start screaming at the teenager.

"Mother?" He yawned, sitting up in his bed. "What time is it?"

"It's ten-thirty. Get up now, I need to talk to you."

Trunks tossed the blankets off his body, but did not move from his spot on the bed. "Wow, late. Must have been more tired than I thought yesterday."

Bulma's frown deepened in response. "I'll bet you were."

Trunks frowned as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He couldn't imagine why his mother would be so irritated with him. Certainly, this was later than he usually slept, but she was the one constantly telling him to get more rest. "I just didn't get much sleep Saturday night. Really, any sleep."

"And why is that?"

"I was with Gohan," Trunks said around a yawn.

"Doing what?"

"We went to a party with some of his school friends."

"And what did you do after?"

Trunks hesitated, suddenly suspicious that his mother, true to form, knew more than she was letting on. "What do you mean?"

"You know damn well what I mean!" Bulma folded her arms, staring down at her teenaged son. "What's this insane plan about Buu you've cooked up?"

Trunks' hunch had been right. "How'd you find out about that?"

"A little bird told me. That's not important, Trunks. What's important is that you're planning on going out and getting yourself killed!"

"Mother, I—"

Bulma cut him off. "Why would you even think about doing something like this?"

"It's because—"

"Of all the crazy, idiotic—"

"Mother!" Trunks returned his mother's scowl. He very rarely raised his voice to Bulma—be it in this timeline or his own—but he needed her to listen. "I think Buu is the trigger we've been looking for."

That shocked Bulma out of her anger. "What?" She frowned again, though this time the expression was pensive rather than angry. "There are plenty of differences between your timeline and ours. Why would Buu be the cause?"

"Because," Trunks began, "Buu is a magical being. You're the one who kept insisting how magical energy can have some serious ripple effects."

Bulma sat down on the teenager's bed, taking in the boy's words. She placed on hand on her chin and hummed quietly, clearly processing Trunks' theory.

A few long moments passed in silence before Trunks spoke again. "Mother?"

"That theory makes some sense," Bulma said, though it seemed she was speaking to herself more than to the time-traveler. "It also might explain why the dragon wasn't able to repair the time stream. Majin Buu's just too powerful for the dragon to kill."

"And it also could explain why it seems that the Earth is at the center of the problem."

Bulma nodded thoughtfully at Trunks. "Maybe, but we still have the same problem with time travel. I'm not sure the time stream is stable enough for you to be able to risk going back to the future yet."

"Which is why I need you to keep researching while I train here. I know it's a lot to ask, mother, but I need your help here."

Bulma sighed, standing up and adjusting her sweater. "Just promise me you won't decide anything until I get back."

"Back? From where?"

"I'm going to Pepper City on business. Trunks is coming with me."

Trunks looked quizzically at his mother. "What on earth for?"

"Oh, I promised to take him with me the next time I went there. He's been asking me for ages to take me out to that amusement park out there, and I didn't want him flying out to Pepper City on his own."

Trunks' eyebrows shot straight up to his hairline. "You're not talking about Super World, are you?"

"Yeah, why?"

Trunks shook his head, forcing down the memory of his first encounter with the Androids 17 and 18 in that very amusement park. Super World may have been the site of one of the androids' most devastating attacks in his timeline, but here the place was just another theme park. "No reason."

"If you say so," Bulma said. She had obviously picked up on the sudden tension in her teenage son, but seemed content not to press Trunks on what was bothering him. "Anyway, we'll be back Wednesday. Promise me you won't try anything reckless in the meantime, okay?"

Trunks smiled at that. "Mother, even assuming I'm right, I won't be ready to take on Buu for a while. I'm just going to get started on training."

Bulma nodded, apparently satisfied with his response. "Just don't do anything crazy, alright?"

Trunks promised that he wouldn't as Bulma walked out of the bedroom. He smiled to himself as he climbed out of bed.

Really, he wondered, stepping toward the closet to get dressed, what even counts as "crazy" around here anymore?

Trunks tightened the waistband of his grey cargo pans and gathered his black tank top from the home it had made on his bedroom floor. The clothes he had been wearing when he'd made his trip into the past weren't exactly clean, but they were all he had for the time being. Everything else was in the laundry at the moment.

It was just past noon, and his mother and his younger self had already left for the train station. When he had asked why she wouldn't simply take a capsule plane directly to her hotel in Pepper City, Bulma responded that she wanted to get some work done during travel. Trunks could understand that—he had kept her so busy with his own mission that she had probably fallen far behind on her corporate duties. The young time-traveler knew he had already asked so much of his family, and yet here he was, about to ask for yet another favor.

Oh well, the teenager thought as he slipped his boots on. It couldn't be helped now. If he wanted to stand a chance against Buu—a Buu that was, apparently, far more dangerous than the demon he had met the day before—he would need every advantage he could get.

Trunks dashed down the stairs, anxious to see his father. He walked through the long, wide corridor to the back of the house, only to find the door to the Gravity Room unlocked and the chamber empty. He thought to himself for a moment before making his way downstairs and toward the far end of the basement.

Trunks knocked on the windowless metal door. There was no response. Though he couldn't see inside, Trunks could hear the whirr of the massive computers even from outside the lab; he doubted it was empty. Trunks knocked again, louder this time.

"What?" came the irate response. Trunks shrugged, taking that as an invitation to open the door.

He entered the lab to find Vegeta glaring at him from a large desk. The desk's surface was strewn with papers, and two monitors had several computerized diagrams of what appeared to be double-barreled ray guns. Various weapons prototypes were scattered along the lab tables, each looking more dangerous than the last. Trunks again found himself wondering what his mother could possibly have been thinking, having Vegeta take on the role of one of Capsule Corp's chief weapons developers. Surely the man left enough destruction in his wake as it was.

"Well?" Vegeta barked out, turning his chair to fully face his teenaged son. "Are you just going to stand there all day or are you going to ask for something?"

"Right, of course." Trunks shook his head, pulling his gaze away from the various lasers and blasters. "Have you spoken to Mother at all today?"

"No," Vegeta replied, turning back to his simulations on his monitor.

"So she hasn't explained my plan to you?"

"Boy, I just told you haven't seen her all day. Stop being an idiot."

"Well, we think we've figured out what's causing the timestream instabilities."

Vegeta did not look away from his computer screen. "So you'll be heading back to your own time, then."

"Not exactly. I'm going to have to do quite a bit of training before I can go back."

"And why is that?"

"Because we're pretty sure Buu is what is causing the instabilities."

That seemed to grab Vegeta's attention. "What's that?"

"Buu was buried under the surface of the earth thousands of years ago. I have to get strong enough that I can destroy his shell. And kill him if I manage to wake him up in the process."

A dull surprise came over the Saiyan Prince's face. "You're actually considering seeking out Buu. Alone."

"Yes." Trunks took a deep breath, steeling his nerves before continuing. "Which is why I'm here. If I want to take out Buu, I'm going to have to get much stronger. And I'm going to need to ascend to Super Saiyan Two."

Vegeta stood from his chair. "And you want me to train you."

Trunks nodded. "Please, Father. I know it's a lot to ask, but if we're to have any hope of saving my timeline, I have to do this."

Vegeta folded his arms, looking the teenager up and down. "You're serious about this."

"As serious as I've ever been."

Vegeta cast a sidelong glance at his desk. Several seconds passed before the man responded. "I have some work to do in the lab. Meet me in the gravity room in three hours."

Trunks stood in the middle of the Gravity Room, posed in sparring form. He frowned, doing his best to keep his balance in this gravity. Vegeta had set the room to simulate five-hundred times the Earth's normal gravity, a significant increase from the 300-G setting he had been using during their earlier sparring matches.

Unlike the teenager, Vegeta did not seem to be bothered by the intensity of the gravity. He turned around and joined Trunks in the middle of the room, taking a stance that mirrored that of his son.

"Come at me," Vegeta said flatly. "I want to see what you can do."

The teenager nodded in response. A moment later he was charging his father, his fist outstretched. The older man easily dodged the blow, taking the defensive as Trunks let out a barrage of kicks and punches.

Trunks pulled away from his father, making his way around the man's backside before coming at him with his elbow. This time, he managed to land a blow in the man's side. Vegeta stumbled slightly before turning to face his son, again taking a defensive posture as he blocked the teenager's attacks.

It was Vegeta who pulled away this time, backing up against the side of the chamber as he sized up his son. "Not bad."

Trunks bit back a smile. "I've kept up with my training."

Trunks was taken aback by the scowl that suddenly appeared on the older man's face. Trunks felt the man's ki spike as the man powered up. Vegeta had not transformed—his hair and eyes were still quite black—but there was an unmistakable glow of power around him.

The Saiyan growled out his next words. "Not enough."

Trunks suddenly felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. It took him a long moment to realize he'd just taken a punch to the gut. He backed up, catching his breath before he saw his father coming at him with another blow.

Trunks ducked hastily, now finding himself on the defensive. He tried to block the series of kicks and blows, but his father's speed was too much. Trunks pulled away, flying up into the center of the room in an attempt to regain the offensive.

Vegeta quickly followed suit, flying toward the ceiling. Trunks narrowly dodged another punch, ducking below the man. Seeing an opportunity to gain the upper hand, he came at Vegeta's back with a kick.

Before Trunks could react, he found his ankle locked inside his father's vise grip. Not only had the older man managed to block what Trunks thought would be a surprise attack, but he had managed to immobilize the teenager in the process. A split second passed before Trunks felt a blow to his breastbone. The next thing the teenager knew, he was hurtling downwards.

Trunks hit the metal floor with a loud clang. He rose on unsteady feet, looking up at his father.

"I haven't even transformed," Vegeta said, looking down on Trunks as he continued to float several feet above the teenager. "Surely you can do better than this."

Trunks stood panting. He shouldn't have been surprised; his father had been training daily for the past ten years. The gravity also gave the Saiyan a decisive advantage in battle. Though Trunks was largely strong enough to withstand the intense gravity, he hadn't had nearly as much experience as his father training in this setting. Vegeta had obviously been holding back when they'd sparred before.

Trunks was just going to have to step his game up.

The boy glowered at his father. With no small amount of difficulty he flew back up into the center of the room, going on the attack. Again, Vegeta seemed to block his blows effortlessly, sliding around Trunks' kicks and punches as he made his way back down to the floor.

Trunks dove, intent on landing a blow on his father. Once more, before he knew what was happening, his found himself hurtling through the room, this time toward the ceiling.

He tried to stop himself midair before making impact, but hit the domed ceiling with another loud thud. Trunks was suddenly grateful for the intense gravity. Had they been fighting under lighter conditions, he would have almost certainly gone straight through the ceiling of the gravity chamber with that last hit. He took a moment to turn himself around, rubbing his sore neck as he stared down at his father.

"You could always transform into a Super Saiyan," Vegeta said, looking up briefly at his son. It was clear that the older man hadn't even broken a sweat. "If you can't keep up with me at this level, that is."

Trunks felt a glare come over his face. His father was taunting him now. Without thinking, he dove down again.

He was expecting his father to block the blow. Instead, the man dodged his attack entirely, disappearing from Trunks' view. Before he could see where Vegeta had gone, he felt the nerves at the base of his spine come afire.

Trunks cried out as he landed on the floor yet again. He lay on his side, gasping as he felt shockwaves shooting through his every nerve. He twitched involuntarily as an almost electric pain radiated from his spine and through his body.

My tail scar, the teenager quickly realized. He couldn't remember ever having had a tail—his mother had it removed from its base as soon as he was born—but the sensitive group of nerves there remained. Of course Vegeta would know about that particular weakness.

Trunks struggled to get his shuddering limbs under control as he rose again. He had lost this fight, and lost it badly. His father had him outmatched on every scale.

Trunks placed his hands on his knees, barely propping himself up as he took a moment to catch his breath. "I guess this match is over."

His heart skipped a beat as he heard Vegeta's response. "Wrong answer." Again, before he could react, he saw the man rushing at him.

Trunks dodged, trying to shield his body with his forearms. He felt his knees suddenly give way; his father had kicked his legs out from under him.

Vegeta's voice echoed through the room. "We aren't finished here."

Trunks stood again, once more forcing his body into sparring form. He vainly tried to keep his head up, but found his neck craning and his shoulders slumping under the weight of the intense gravity and his own injuries. The fluorescent lights above him burned, suddenly seeming far too bright for his eyes.

The boy raised his arms, attempting to block another impending blow from his father. Vegeta effortlessly knocked the teenager's limbs out of the way, landing another punch in his vulnerable chest.

Trunks quickly sank to his hands and knees. His vision went black as he let out a wet cough. It took a few seconds for his sight to clear; when it did, he saw splatters of red against a steely grey background. He reached for his mouth, wiping it with the back of his hand. It also came back smeared with red.

It had been a mistake, Trunks realized, not to become a Super Saiyan when he'd had the chance. Now he couldn't muster the energy to transform, even if he had wanted to.

"That isn't all you've got," Vegeta growled out, knocking Trunks to the domed wall of the gravity room with a single kick. "Fight back."

The teenager winced as he hit the wall, unable to tell whether the harsh, metallic noise he heard was the sound of the impact of his body against the side of the room or simply the ringing of his ears. He used one hand to prop himself against the wall, trying to get an even footing as he struggled to catch his breath.

Before he could get steady on his own feet, he felt his body dragged up against the wall by his wrists. Trunks soon found himself staring in to an emotionless pair of pitch-black eyes. Trunks vainly twisted his arms, trying to get loose, but he was hopelessly pinned.

"I said, fight back."

Trunks again pulled at his arms, trying to free his wrists from his father's grasp. He needn't have bothered struggling. Mere seconds later, Trunks felt his body hurtling yet again to the other side of the gravity chamber. He felt his back crack against the wall as he made impact. He wondered, idly, if the agony he felt as he landed facedown on the floor was a broken rib.

Strange, the last time he landed against the wall had seemed so loud. Now he could hear nothing at all over the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

Vegeta's next words, however, came through loud and clear. "Get. Up."

"I . . ." Trunks took a deep, shuddering breath, using one arm to prop himself up against the floor. Out came the words the boy thought he had banished from his vocabulary. "I can't."

"Again. Wrong answer."

Trunks didn't bother to block the next kick that came toward his midsection. He felt himself roll along the floor from the impact, landing on his side somewhere near the middle of the room. His body convulsed as he felt another strike at the cluster of nerves at his tailbone. It was a strange sensation; even though he could tell that his muscles were seizing from the abuse, it didn't hurt nearly as much as it had the first time around.

That's odd, Trunks thought to himself as he vaguely felt another kick to his stomach. The bright lights of the gravity suddenly seemed very, very dim.

Fucking. Lights.

Trunks groaned quietly, slowly opening his eyes as they adjusted to the onslaught of the overhead lamps. He was lying on his back, a cool, hard surface beneath him. His joints creaked as he struggled to sit up and get his bearings.

It took Trunks a few seconds to realize that he was in the Gravity Room. He carefully shook his head, recalling how it was that he had gotten there. The room was empty save for his presence, and the gravity generator had been turned off. His father had left him where he'd fallen unconscious.

Typical, Trunks thought as he gathered the strength to rise to his feet. He didn't particularly feel like moving, but the thought of his bed was far more inviting that the prospect of sleeping on the Gravity Room floor.

He instantly regretted his decision as he took the first step toward the exit. His knees cried out and buckled under the pressure. Trunks stumbled, but manage not to fall.

Against his better judgment, he looked behind him. Red smears marked where he had been laying and streaked behind him. A particularly annoying voice in the teenager's head wondered if Bulma would mind the mess. Trunks laughed at the thought, despite the pain it caused in his chest and stomach.

"Come on, legs," he murmured, taking another step toward the door. "Walk. That's what you do." He almost laughed again at the idea of giving his own limbs a pep talk, but thought better of it as another spasm shot through his abdomen.

Slowly and carefully, he began walking thorough the corridor to the stairway. Though he'd noticed from the moment of his arrival how much larger this place was compared to his own home, Trunks had never really appreciated just how massive the Capsule Corp compound was until he found himself struggling to force his body up to his room.

He gripped the handrail of the staircase as he all but dragged himself up the stairs. This wasn't the worst Trunks had ever felt—after all, the boy had died before—but it certainly made his top-ten list. A quick glance in the direction of the window revealed that it was dark outside. Trunks didn't know how long he had been out, but it had to have been at least a few hours. It had been mid-afternoon when he and his father had started training, if one could call it that. Trunks couldn't help looking in the hall mirror as he finally reached the top floor of the compound.

He was stunned at his own appearance. If it was possible, he actually looked worse than he felt.

His eye, unlike most of his body, hadn't hurt too terribly, and he could see out of it fairly clearly, but it was swollen and purple. His lower lip was split, also looking unnaturally plump and inflamed. Dried blood caked his right temple and ran down his jawline. Patches of reddish-brown grime, also dried blood, clumped in his long hair. His tank top was torn and hanging in tatters off his chest, and the exposed skin was covered in bruises and caked in yet more blood.

He was a wreck.

He shook his head, resuming the long trek toward his bedroom. He tried to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It wasn't that he had been injured. Pain was nothing new to the demi-Saiyan. It was the way Vegeta had continued to pummel him, well after he was beaten. The way his father had left him a bloodied mess on the Gravity Room floor. It was as though Vegeta was punishing him for not being able to keep up with the older man, despite the fact that Vegeta had a ten-year advantage.

Trunks shook his head, focusing on getting his battered form into bed. His heart began to pound in his ears as he saw a familiar form round the corner.

Trunks stopped in his tracks as Vegeta stepped toward him. After a few paces, the older man stopped as well, looking the teenager up and down. A heavy silence descended between the two of them as Trunks made eye contact with his father.

Vegeta was the one to break the silence.

"You look a mess." His voice was an impassive monotone.

Trunks' eyes widened at the statement. He hadn't been angry with his father until that moment. Now, however, he could feel his temper beginning to flare.

"Thanks to you," he ground out.

Vegeta raised an eyebrow at his son. "If I recall correctly, you approached me," he observed calmly.

"Yeah, to train me." Trunks wondered if his voice sounded as weak and raspy to his father as it did to his own ears. "What was beating me completely senseless supposed to accomplish?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes at the accusation. "It isn't my fault that you can't keep up."

Trunks' breath caught in his throat. His earlier suspicions were right after all—Vegeta was angry that his son had fallen behind.

Trunks had no time to muster a reaction before his father continued. "I told you before not to waste my time."

He still thinks I'm a waste of his time.

Trunks swallowed loudly as his throat tightened. "You've got a decade's worth of training up on me."

"You are the one who requested more intense training, brat. Or was that just adolescent posturing?"

"Postur . . ." Trunks trailed off, genuinely stunned by his father's words. "I've never been anything but sincere with you." He tried not to sound stung.

"Clearly," the man said dismissively. "You'll be fine in a few days, tops. Stop behaving like a child." He stepped around the teenager, walking toward the staircase. Despite himself, Trunks turned around to watch his father.

"Besides," Vegeta continued as he made his way down the stairs. "Saiyans increase in strength when they recover from serious injuries." He didn't bother to spare a glance back toward the teenager. "You should know that by now." Seconds later, he disappeared from Trunks view.

Trunks stood dumbly in the hallway for a few moments, rubbing his sore wrists as he processed his father's words. His stomach was growling—logically, he knew he should probably get something to eat—but the thought of food made him ill.

Slowly, he turned around, resuming the long trek to his bedroom. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the door. He turned the handle, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. Gingerly, he peeled off his bloodied tank top and ruined pants before climbing into his bed. He felt filthy; ideally, he would have taken a shower, but he doubted he could muster the energy to make it to the bathroom, let alone clean himself off.

Trunks closed his eyes, his mind swimming as he lay his head on the pillow. He felt an odd burning in his chest, one that had nothing to do with his injuries. The exhaustion that wracked the young man's body clashed against the turmoil in his mind. His thoughts swirled against the backdrop of the beating he'd just received, playing over against his closed eyelids.

He tried to ignore his anger at Vegeta, for his utter brutality and coldness. His anger at himself, for expecting anything different. His dejection over the fact that, after all was said and done, his father still considered him an inferior. A child. Weak.

But as consciousness slipped away from the young demi-Saiyan, what dominated his mind was a profound sense of shame. Because he couldn't help but think that perhaps his father was right.