"You need to come back home, son."
"Fuck! What the fuck do you mean 'why?'...cause that's where you fucking live..."
His voice trailed off near the end, as heads turned toward us. He smiled and shrugged. No one cared. He put his hand on my shoulder, which I practically dislocated shaking free. He wrapped his fist in the front of my windbreaker. I was on my feet before I could think.
"Don't what, Nancy?"
"Don't fucking touch me."
I turned and started walking away, but he followed.
"You're a fucking tough guy now, eh?"
"You sure? You talk like you're a fucking tough guy."
His fingers were curled. His hands itching for it, you could see it. He walked forward until our noses were almost touching and jabbed me in the chest. I looked into his eyes and laughed.
"You know what, Dad? You're a fucking bully. You've always been a bully. But you're old now. I'm bigger than you are. I'm sure as hell stronger than you are..."
"So, you touch me again...ever...and I will kick the living shit out of you. Got it?"
His eyes narrowed and then grew wide. You could see it registering. I had four inches and twenty pounds on him now. I lifted weights every day. I moved even closer to him, his eyes level with my nose.
"Do you get it, old man? You don't have the power any more."
"As long as you live under my roof..."
"I'm working on that part, don't worry."
He was shaking with anger and suddenly the whole thing was hilarious. I had felt small for so long; it had happened without my realizing it. I felt a little sorry for him. A little.
"Hey, bud...sit back down..."
"By blood, old man. By blood."
I pulled a cigarette from my pocket and lit it. He winced. It felt good. I turned around and starting walking, but he didn't follow.