Sonny gets another call from Nicky's preschool teacher. This time even though Nicky got in a fight again it turns out that he appears to have started it. Sonny sighs and agrees to yet another parent-teacher conference with the family of the boy that had been pushing Nicky around all year.

"Nicky!" he yells up the stairs.

"Was that my teacher?" Nicky says as he comes to the landing, beaming. He thinks his father will be proud of him for what he did today. He just knew his teacher was going to tell him so he had waited, kept the secret to himself even though it was bursting to get out.

"Get down here," Sonny says firmly.

"Oooh, someone's going to get in trouble," Jesse teases from the kitchen table. She is working on her homework.

Sonny turns towards his daughter, points a finger at her and says, "Can it."

She just shrugs and goes back to doing her math problems.

"Man-to-man?" Nicky stutters.

"Yes, man to man. Get down here."

They end up on the sofa in the 'serious room' again.

"Tell me what happened." Sonny says.

Nicky tells him – stuttering along the best way he knows how. Since four year olds don't have the easiest time with talking, whole sentences take him a while to form and he needs to think hard before saying them.

"Do I get to be called Dominick now?" he asks hopefully after he tells his daddy everything.

"No. What you've done is nothing to be proud of son. If you go around picking fights you're being as bad as he is. Do you understand?"

"But daddy, I didn't cry," he says, his chin trembling, working hard to hold back ears. He thought he'd made his daddy proud, but instead he's mad.

"I am proud of you for not crying. Very proud," Sonny reassures him. Nicky sniffs and the tears do not fall. "You're toughening up and if you keep it up by the time to get to 'real school' with a bunch of new kids that haven't seen you cry less of them will pick on you. You got it?"

"Yes, I got it." Nicky says.

He wants to make sure Nicky is a tough kid by the time kindergarten rolls around. He has a feeling his son will be short and scrawny like he was until he shot up in high school. A natural target. He's glad Nicky seems to have gotten control of his crying at least – having a reputation as a crybaby would only make things worse. But he certainly doesn't want him to lash out and become a bully either.

"Now listen to me. You cannot go around picking fights. And since you did that today you're in big trouble, Mister. Daddy has to go clean up your mess down at the school now. And I don't like that."

"I'm sorry," Nicky says, contrite.

"Glad to hear it little buddy," Sonny says and gives his son a little pat on the shoulder. "Now you go up to your room and think about how what you did was wrong while I think of a good punishment for you."

"No daddy! Make up your mind now. Please." He whines.

Sonny smiles to himself. He knows that the agony of waiting and wondering is often worse than what any punishment may be. It was punishment in itself. His mother had been the master of this type of discipline.

"No can do, little buddy. Now head upstairs."

"I don't wanna," Nicky declares, but still he obeys his father, stomping his feet all the way up to his room.