My dad died before I could kick his ass. Not that I would've tried... especially while living under his roof. I'd run away before assaulting a man in his own house.
Anyway, the closest we came to fighting was when he put his hands around my throat once when I was 13 and said, "I want to freakin' strangle you." He was a pretty damn good dad though, don't get me wrong. He was just freakin' pissed off. He probably had pretty good reason since I had just been suspended for smoking pot in the bathroom at school like a fucking idiot, and then I came home and told him he'd have to wait to ground me since I was running away that weekend to see the Dead in Miami.
The only family member's ass I kicked was my older borther's. My father eventually got sick with cancer and my older brother took advantage of the opportunity to start cussing and rampaging at my mom and my sick, weak, dying dad over anything from what time to eat dinner to what channel the TV should be on. I finally stood up to him, he threw a punch, and I knocked him fucking silly and threw him through a wall. He was bigger then me too, but I was mad as hell. After that, things were pretty calm around the house, but I still had to pay for the wall.