“Dad, I’m ready.”
The old man sniffed. “You’re ready when I say you are. And I say you aren’t.”
“Dad—“
“Nope: too young.”
“I’m sixteen. Jorge was sixteen when he went out the first time; he’s one of the best scouts you have. I could be just as good as him.”
“You know who else was sixteen the first time he went out? Your Uncle Bobby.”
“Who?”
“Exactly. You don’t remember your Uncle Bobby because you weren’t born yet when he went out at sixteen and didn’t come back.”
“But—“
“Son, your mother would kill me if you got eaten.”
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