In fact, you get to join in right now! Will's Father admits, "That's my fault, the confidence thing." AAAAAUAUAUAUUUUUAUUUGH. "Boys learn that from their fathers." And as I'm certain Ryan Murphy intended that line as a sly little slam on outdated heterocentric ideas regarding the proper care and rearing of America's male children (no, don't tell me otherwise), I'll be skimming over that particular erroneous sentiment to note that Will's Father proceeds to provide us with a brief autobiography that makes it clear he chose to lead a life of quiet desperation for his family's benefit rather than pursue his dream of attending law school, which he's long since convinced himself was the proper thing to do in the first place, as he never had the "balls" to be a lawyer. You can go ahead and scream at that one if you like, but I'll be saving my voice for overt mentions of The C Word. Anyway, when Will assures his dad that the latter's the smartest guy Will knows, Will's Father replies, "It's not about brains, son. Being a good father -- hell, being a man is all about one thing: Guts, and you've got about six months to figure out if you have any." Are you all done? No, go ahead and let it out. I can wait.
Ready now? Good, because we've cut over to the McKinley High rehearsal room while you were all howling your fool heads off, and Will's in the middle of running the freshly expanded Glee Club through some rather uninspired choreography of his own invention. Rachel, clearly perturbed, soon enough stops even pretending to follow along and, perhaps because she doesn't want to hurt Mr. Schue's feelings yet has no idea how to put anything tactfully, hesitantly calls the proceedings to a halt. "You don't have to ask my permission every time you want to go to the bathroom," Will tells her, barely turning around. "You can just go." "It's not my bladder," Rachel replies, deadly serious. "It's the choreography." "Ooo-kay, what's wrong with the choreography?" Will asks, wrinkling his nose a little bit.