The Obedient Son

Someone owed Dad money; I could see that by the way his leg bounced as he smoked what must've been his thirtieth cigarette.
He looked me over for a moment, a skinny teen with my homework laden school bag hanging on my not-so-ample shoulder.
"You're old enough," he said. "Go get your baseball bat, and come with me."
I did as I was told; I'd learned long ago that you didn't say 'no' to my father without consequence.
Off we went.
Knocking the man down, Dad turned and commanded me to swing.
I was only fourteen years old.