“I’m not going to lie to you I am disappointed.” I ran my hand through thinning hair.

“Fuck you! You’re not my dad!” Jack was still young; still emotional.

“No I’m not. If I was, I’d beat some manners into you. As it is I just get to watch you lose friends and see if you learn anything, presuming that you’re not too fucking stupid to notice, and not so entitled, that you think you’re just a victim.” I tried to keep calm but by the end I was barking out words through a tight throat.

Jack looked around to see if anyone was watching. Image was important to him. The nearest person was Old Man Johnson on his knees in the dirt, pruning his beloved roses. I watched Jack mentally discard Johnson’s opinion.

Putting my hand on Jack’s shoulder, I gently guided him down the empty street toward the half-way house. “Look the question is, can I trust you next time?”

“I don’t know why you’re riding me. Nothing happened.”

“I like to live in a world where responsibility- a man’s word, you understand?- means something.”