[Craig's father catches him with a handgun] Mr. Jones: What's that for? Craig: Protection. Mr. Jones: Protection from who? Craig: Me and Smoke... I've got to walk Smokey down to his house. Mr. Jones: Aw, man... your mother and I never would've moved to this neighborhood if we'd known you need a gun to walk down the damn street. Craig: You know how it is 'round here. Mr. Jones: Oh, no, son. That's not the way it is. You kids have been nothin' but punks. Sissified. So quick to pick up a gun. Too scared to take an ass-whipping. [Raises his fists] This is what makes you a man. When I was growing up, this was all the protection we needed. You win some, you lose some. But you live, you live to fight another day! Now you think you're a man with a gun in your hands, don't you? Craig: I'm a man without it. Mr. Jones: Put the gun down. [Craig complies] Mr. Jones: C'mon, put up your dukes. [Craig raises his fists] Mr. Jones: Now you're a man. Your uncle picked up a gun, too. He found out the hard way. Twenty-two years old. You've got a choice. This is all you need, alright?