I showed the Beastie Boys to my grandmother last week, and she loved them.
I didn't really.
But I'm sure she would have loved them if I had.
Eventually the son ran away from home and joined a string quartet, where he found fulfillment by playing Dvorak. His father disapproved of his son at first, but then he saw his son perform and realized the true joy of self-expression his son found in the cello, and gave him his blessing in a tearful father-son reunion.