Crime and Punishment

When I was 6 I had a nice collection of model airplanes. I was very proud of them. I spent hours working on each one. They were all vintage World War 2 variety. I had American , English Japanese, German, and for some unknown reason even a French plane. In all my collection totaled maybe 15 aircraft or so.
One summer day as I was playing in a park near our house I saw John with a bunch of boys around his age. They were all standing around a little mound of dirt ,laughing and throwing firecrackers. I went over to see what was up. John turned around and looked a little startled to see me.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"Nothing. What are you doing?"
John smiled "Nothing. Just blowing up some junk." I looked behind John and saw my model planes sitting on the mound. All had been blown up. I looked up at John who just gave me a little shrug. And a smile.
I ran home as quickly as I could ,and went to my room. All my planes were gone.
Except the French one.
I started to cry. I ran down the steps and went to the kitchen were Mom was cooking.
"Mom ! John blew up my Airplanes!" Mom gave me a puzzled look and I quickly explained what I had saw. Mom was clearly upset. Good I thought, John will pay for what he has done. A little later John came home and Mom started yelling at him. She grabbed him by the ear and pulled him over to me.
"Now tell your little brother you're sorry!"
"I'm sorry " he said clearly not sorry.
Mom let him go. John wandered out the back door. Smiling at me! Mom put her hand on my shoulder "There I punished him"
"How!" I cried. I was stunned. "Aren't you going to beat him? Just a little?"
"John will never do it again ."
"Of course not! I don't have any planes left!"
Mom went back to the kitchen leaving me standing there stunned and upset. I went out the back door . From there I could see John playing basketball with some other kids at the neighborhood playground. I sat down in a lawn chair. I began to plot ways to get back at him. I couldn't throw myself down the stairs. I'd tried that too many times. I couldn't tell Dad John hit me in my side. He might actually hit me. I started to despair thinking that I'd run out of ways to get back at my brothers.
Just then Steve came home.
Steve wasn't staying around home a lot. He spent most of his time with his girlfriend Kathy. Steve came out back where I was, drinking a bottle of pop. I stared at Steve a moment, a thought crossing my mind.
"Steve why are you gay?"
Steve almost choked on his pop. "What?"
"John said you're gay. I was just wondering what's gay?"
"John said I was gay?"
"Yes. He's been telling it to all his friends. Why? Is it a bad thing?"
"Where is he?"
I pointed over to the playground. Steve handed me his pop and walked over to the playground. I remember thinking maybe I've gone to far this time.
Then I remembered my planes and promptly dismissed that idea.
Steve walked onto the basketball court and hit John. John dropped like a puppet with it's strings cut. Steve kicked him.(Steve's fighting philosophy was never let the guy get right back up) Then for good measure Steve threw the basketball at John's head. Steve stormed off the court and walked back over to where I was. I smiled at him and gave him his pop back.
After John saw Steve leave for Kathy's he limped over to the house. "Why did Steve do that?"
"I don't know. Something Geno told him really upset him." John limped away looking for Geno. Happy I went back in and had some of Mom's chicken. Later I went upstairs and threw away my sole remaining airplane.
To this day when I think of the French I can't help but also think of John.





Just to clarify something.
At the age of 6 I didn't know really what gay meant. I had seen Steve goofing around play fighting with some neighbor kid. During the course of this the kid made the mistake of jokingly calling Steve gay. Steve replied by knocking the crud out of him. I filed away what I saw for later use.