Anyway, later on, in the house, I must have gotten in a shouting match with my mom (can't see her now, though). My dad comes out of the next room (now looking like he really looks, but larger than me) and comes at me saying "OK, that's it" and taking off his watch. I flinched back a bit, asking what the Hell he's doing, and he tells me it's time to settle this, once and for all, five rounds, him and me. I start to protest, but he calls over my shoulder to someone to go get some truck (for light, I suppose) and a friend of his to act as referee. I start to tell him I'm not going to do this, that this is insane. He takes off his shirt, and he's flexing his hands, ready for a fight. I know that this will not go well,and I'm trying to reason with him, asking him what he's going to accomplish, what this solves. He doesn't much answer. Finally, I ask him, just for argument, what happens if I actually beat the shit out of him. He tells me I'll have to kill him because he won't stop, and he walks away to set up this area that will apparently be my downfall. Lots of other people are already sitting in chairs in this large open room we find ourselves in, drinking, it's almost a party mood...it's like none of them have given this any other thought beyond the sport of it. I continue my exhortations with some chick with pinkish/reddish ponyfalls and glasses (seemed familiar in the dream, but I have no idea who it was), asking what happens if he beats the shit out of me, and she doesn't really answer. I ask again (I'm nearly screaming at this point), and all she says is "I'm trying, Frank...I love you", but she says it in an exasperated tone. I turn away, trying to figure out where Dad has gotten to, and I wake up with the thought in my mind that I better grab my knives and prepare to kill him, as it's the only way I'll live to see the morning.
Lemme tell ya, that is not the first thing I want to be thinking when I wake up.