Elon Musk Discovers His Father’s Secret Life of Kindness—What Happens Next Will Surprise You
Elon Musk pressed his forehead against the cold window of his private jet as it descended toward Pretoria. The South African landscape stretched below, both familiar and foreign. He hadn’t planned this trip; it was a last-minute impulse after months of relentless work and headlines. Now, as the plane touched down, anxiety crept in. He hadn’t seen his father, Errol, in five years, and their last conversation had ended in an argument.
He’d called twice that morning—no answer. Typical. Errol Musk was a man who valued his independence above all, often to the point of stubbornness. Elon’s memories of his father were complicated: a brilliant but difficult man, quick to criticize, slow to praise.
A black sedan whisked him from the airport, winding through the leafy suburbs of Pretoria. The driver stopped outside a modest, well-kept house. Elon hesitated, then told the driver to wait and walked up the path alone.
He rang the bell. No answer. He knocked, peered through the window—nothing. Figuring his father was out, Elon circled the house, following a faint clatter and voices from the backyard.
There, across a hedge, he stopped dead. On the neighbor’s roof, balanced on a ladder, was 77-year-old Errol Musk, his white hair shining in the sun, bent over a set of solar panels. Below, an elderly woman in a bright dress watched anxiously.
“Mr. Musk, please be careful up there!” she called.
“Nonsense, Mrs. Kyomo,” Errol replied, not looking down. “I’ve been climbing things since before you had grandchildren. Just a loose connection here.”
Elon couldn’t move. He’d always thought of his father as self-centered, even cold. What was he doing, fixing someone’s solar panels for free?
He watched as Errol’s hands worked with steady precision, tightening wires, checking circuits. Even in old age, his father’s engineering skill was obvious—something they shared, though Elon rarely admitted it.
.
.
.
“Almost done, Mrs. Kyomo!” Errol called. “Try the switch now.”
A moment later, the woman shouted from inside the house, “It works! Thank you, thank you!”
Errol climbed down, his movements careful. As he reached the ground, he finally noticed Elon. For a long moment, father and son stared at each other.
“Elon?” Errol said, surprised. “What in the world are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same,” Elon replied, forcing a smile. “Didn’t know you were in the solar repair business.”
Errol’s face hardened, defensive. “Mrs. Kyomo’s system went down last week. Just a blown fuse. Nothing complicated.”
The woman beamed at Elon. “Your father is a good man. The company wanted too much money to fix the panels. He helped me for free.”
Elon tried to process this. The man he’d spent years distancing himself from was doing charity work? It didn’t fit.
Mrs. Kyomo insisted they come inside for tea. The living room was small but tidy, filled with family photos. As she disappeared into the kitchen, Elon sat awkwardly with his father.
Errol broke the silence. “What brings you to Pretoria? Surely not just to see your old man.”
Elon shrugged. “Had some time. Thought I’d stop by.”
Errol raised an eyebrow. “The richest man in the world doesn’t just have time.”
Before Elon could reply, Mrs. Kyomo returned with tea and cookies. She smiled at them both. “Your father has helped many people here. Not just me. He’s fixed panels for at least twenty families.”
Errol looked uncomfortable. “I have nothing better to do with my time,” he muttered.
Elon was unconvinced. This wasn’t the father he remembered. “Why solar panels?” he asked quietly.
Errol’s eyes grew distant. “Power outages are getting worse. The national company can’t keep up. People buy solar, but repairs are so expensive most can’t afford them. I help where I can.”
Elon nodded, recognizing the challenge. Tesla’s own solar division had struggled with similar issues. “You could’ve started a business, charged half what the companies do. Still made money.”
“Not everything is about money, Elon.” Errol’s reply was sharp, almost hurt.
Before the tension could thicken, Mrs. Kyomo returned with her grandson, Thabo, a university engineering student. “Your father’s been teaching me about solar systems,” Thabo said eagerly. “I even wrote my term paper on Tesla’s South Australia project.”
Elon smiled. “What did you think?”
“Brilliant solution to a real problem,” Thabo replied. “But I wonder if we could do something similar here, on a smaller scale.”
As they talked, Mrs. Kyomo invited everyone to stay for dinner. Errol looked uncomfortable but agreed. Over a simple meal, conversation drifted to the neighborhood’s struggles with power, education, and opportunity. Mrs. Kyomo, a retired math teacher, told stories of helping students succeed against the odds.
After dinner, the group moved outside. The sun was setting, casting long shadows. Errol showed Elon the various homes he’d helped—each with a story, each with a problem solved. Elon saw his father greeted warmly by neighbors, thanked for his help.
As they walked, Elon realized how much Errol knew about each family—not just their technical needs, but their lives. It was a side of his father he’d never seen.
They turned a corner and saw a man on a roof, removing solar panels. Below, a couple pleaded with him. Errol’s face darkened. “That’s Marcus Visser. Charges triple for repairs, repossesses systems if people can’t pay.”
Without hesitation, Errol strode over. “Visser! What are you doing?”
“Business, Musk. They missed payments. Contract says I can reclaim the equipment.”
Elon stepped forward. “How much do they owe?”
Visser sneered, but when he recognized Elon, his tone changed. “You’re that Musk, the Tesla guy.”
Elon ignored him. “How much?”
“9,000 rand,” Mrs. Naidu said quietly. “But the system cost 35,000.”
Elon examined the panels. “You sold them the wrong inverter. Too small for this array. That’s why it keeps failing.”
Visser turned red. Neighbors gathered, murmuring. Errol backed Elon up. “He’s right. This is predatory.”
Under pressure, Visser relented. He agreed to install the correct equipment and revise the payment plan.
As the crowd dispersed, Elon looked at his father with new respect. “You could’ve told me you were doing all this.”
“Would you have believed me?” Errol asked quietly.
Elon shook his head. “Maybe not.”
Back at Mrs. Kyomo’s, the evening wound down. As the others left, Errol lingered. “There’s something I should tell you,” he said, voice low. “Three years ago, I had a health scare. Heart problems. Made me think about what I’d leave behind. I realized I’d spent my life making money, not a difference. Your work with sustainable energy made me want to help, even in a small way.”
Elon was silent, processing. His father continued, “I’ve kept every article about you. I’m proud—even if I never said it.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. Then, quietly, Elon said, “Maybe we could do more. Together. Start a program—train local engineers, make repairs affordable.”
Errol smiled, a rare, genuine smile. “I’d like that.”
As Elon left that night, he glanced back at his father, standing in the doorway. For the first time in years, he saw not just the man who’d shaped him, but the man he’d become—flawed, changing, and quietly heroic.
The next morning, father and son met again, ready to begin something new—not just for Pretoria, but for themselves.
