"Not My Son!"

      "F-U!"  SLAPP!!! I landed a fierce and quick open right hand to the left cheek of his handsome face, almost knocking the smart-ass kid to the floor. 
      "Boy, don't you ever talk to me like that!"
      "Just get out of my room, Dad....and don't touch me."
       As I took a step forward and pressed my index finger firmly against his chest, I said, "Look, knucklehead, I'm not going to stand by and watch my son go to prison behind some shit!"
      "Don't touch me," again the boy said.
       Then he said it again, and feeling particularly challenged, insulted, and alienated, I thrust both hands forward grabbing and emotionally snatching his fashionable blue and white Nike velour jumpsuit tightly about the collar, while sensing the hot blood rushing to my head.   I quickly yanked the young man to my face, feeling his warm and nervous breath against my lips.  My blue hazel eyes were steely gazing into my son's green hazel eyes within a few scant inches as I commanded, firmly but nervously...
       "Put the Dope Down!"...louder..."Put the Dope Down, Carlton!"...
        I mustered all my manly strength to demonstrate at fifty I could still kick the ass of a twenty-one year old,
if necessary, yet controlling my rage so I didn't have to. 
        "Put the Dope Down,"  I kept saying...again and again I continued to command firmly about a dozen times..."Put the Dope Down!"...The young hippity-hop was at once intimidated yet confused..."Put the Dope Down!"...