Last Saturday Dave Gillespie finally got a chance to watch his son play football. Dave is a high school coach himself and is usually busy with his own team on Saturdays. He's been widowed for eight years and has largely brought Chris up by himself. Although he's never pressured him to excel at sports or even to participate, he admits he's delighted that Chris has developed into a first-class athlete.
Chris scored a touchdown in the second quarter of Saturday's game, and at half-time some of Dave's friends came up to him and praised Chris generously. As Dave was talking with one of his friends, he notice a man and boy standing nearby, looking in his direction. They seemed to be engaged in serious conversation. When Dave's friend left him, the man approached.
"Don't, Dad," the boy called out. "You'll only make it worse."
Ignoring him, the man introduced himself to Dave. "I'm Phil Webster. That's my son, Gordon."
When Dave had introduced himself, Phil said, "I hate to rain on your parade, but your son and a few of his friends have been giving Gordon a hard time all year."
"Chris?" Dave said.
"Yes, Chris."
"Well, this obviously does put a damper on things; but I'm glad you told me." He called Gordon over and said, "Tell me what these guys have been doing."
Gordon stared nervously at the ground and said, "It's nothing, really. It's O. K."
"Let me guess," Dave said. "They've been tripping you when you're loaded down with books? Poking you between the shoulder blades? Punching you? Sticking chewing gum in your hair?"
Gordon shook he head in agreement.
"I teach gym over in Springfield," Dave said. "I've seen it all dozens of time. They find a target, and they don't let up."
"The other day one of them peed on him in the shower," Phil said.
"_d_a_m_n_," Dave answered.
"And when I spoke to the coach," Phil continued, "he said there was nothing he could do about it."
"There's a lot he could do about it," Dave said. "Anyway, I'm obviously embarrassed, and I'm disgusted with my son. You can be sure I'll take care of him. And believe me, Gordon, he won't try to retaliate."
Gordon was not convinced. As soon as Dave was out of earshot, he said to his father, "He can't do anything. Chris is about six inches taller than he is, and weighs about twenty pounds more. I'm probably going to get slaughtered on Monday."
"I think you're wrong," Phil said.
Right after the game Dave headed for the locker room. He caught up with Chris as he was returning from the showers. "We're going to Galen's to celebrate," Chris said.
"You're not going anywhere," Dave said. "I just had a talk with Gordon Webster's father. What the hell is the matter with you?"
"The kid's a fag, for Christ's sake."
Dave smacked him across the face--hard. Heads turned.
"The guy's gay," Dave said, "so you and these other jerks think you have the right to dump all over him? Get dressed. I'll wait for you in the car."
The locker room got very quiet for a minute. Then one of the guys said, "If my old man slapped me across the face like that, I'd kick his ass."
Chris said, "Shut up, or I'll kick your ass."
He made his way to the car very apprehensively. When he had climed in, Dave said, "Tell me exactly what you've been doing to him?"
"You know," Chris answered. "Nothing really."
"I bet!" Dave said. "Have you been calling him names like 'faggot'?"
"Yes, sir."
"Punching him and poling him?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you peed on him in the shower?"
"No, Dad. That was Wade."
"And what did you say when he did it?"
"Nothing."
"Because it was no big deal. He was just having a little fun. Right?"
"Yeah, Dad. That's all it was."
"Do you think Gordon was having any fun?"
"I don't know."
"How did you feel when I smacked you?"
"How do you think I felt, Dad? I was embarrassed... getting hit in front of all those guys."
"Would you feel the same way if Wade peed on you in the shower in front of all those guys?"
"Yes, sir. You're right," Chris answered.
They rode the rest of the way home in silence. When they got there, Dave immediately ordered Chris to go to his room. Chris hoped that staying in his room would be his punishment. Dave quickly disabused him of that hope. He walked in carrying a arge wooden hairbrush. It was a family heirloom. Dave's father had used it on his rear end any number of times. Knowing how much it hurt, Dave usually used the belt on Chris instead; but he was convinced that this time his son needed a real beating.
Dave sat down on a chair and said, "O. K., Chris," he said. "Take your pants down."
"Please, Dad, I'm not going to bother him any more, I promise."
"_d_a_m_n_ed right, you're not going to bother him. Take your pants down."
"The hairbrush, Dad? That's torture."
"Take your pants down, Chris, NOW."
With genuine dread he unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and dropped his jeans, pulled down his jockey shorts, and lay across his father's lap. His white muscular backside stood in marked contrast to this suntanned back and thighs. It made a perfect target for the hairbrush.
Chris's dread was not unwarranted. Dave brought the hairbrush down hard, snapping it against they boy's exposed behind. Each time it landed, it left a circular mark that was not pink but crimson. Chris started to cry when Dave delivered the fifth blow.
His crying had no effect on Dave, who delivered fifteen swats more. Although Chris had been walloped often--sometimes quite hard--he had never before received a tanning like this one.
Dave left the room and put the hairbrush away. A few minutes later he returned. By that time Chris had pulled up his pants and had stopped crying. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said.
"I know you are," Dave answered kindly. "You're not a bad guy, and you didn't really intend to be vicious. You just didn't think. But what you did was hateful, Chris, and I love you too much to let you get away with that kind of behavior."
"I understand, Dad," Chris answered.
"Well, that takes care of you and me. No what about Gordon?"
"I guess I have to apologize to him."
"Are you ready to apologize sincerely?"
"Yes, sir."
"O. K. I'll call his father," Dave said. When he made the call, Gordon answered the telephone. Phil was not at home. Dave said, "Chris and I would like to talk to you. May we come over, or would you like to come over here?"
"It's no big deal, Mr. Gillespie. Don't worry about it."
"We'd like to talk to you," Dave insisted.
"O. K. My parents aren't home; so I guess I better come over to your house.:
"Where do you live?"
"278 Parker."
"We're on Walnut. 455. It's only about three blocks away."
"I know where you live. I've been avoiding that block for months."
"Well, you won't have to avoid it any more. Come on over."
"Gordon arrived within a few minutes."
Chris had not fully regained his composure. He looked disheveled, and his eyes were still very red. For the first time ever he greeted Gordon by name. "I'm sorry," he said. "I've been acting like a real asshole. My dad knocked some sense into me, and all I can say is 'I'm sorry'."
"I wish my dad hadn't made such a big thing out of this," Gordon said
apologetically.
"I'm glad he talked to me," Dave said. "He did us a favor." He offered them some cranberry juice and went to the kitchen to get it.
"Is there something wrong with your eyes?" Gordon asked. "They're all red."
"That's just from crying."
"You were crying?"
"Sure," Chris said. "Don't you cry when you get a licking?"
"You got a licking?"
"Did I ever. There was no negotiation. Dad just said, 'Take your pants down, NOW."
"_s_h_i_t_! I didn't want to get you into trouble, Chris. I'm sorry."
"Why should you be sorry? If I were in your place, I'd be happy."
"Why?"
"Because I've been giving you a hard time for no reason, and I got what I had coming."
Dave came in with the cranberry juice.
"I feel like such a jerk," Gordon said. " I can never fight my own battles."
"Well," Dave said, "Physical aggression is just not your thing. Besides, you can hardly be expected to fight off two or three of these guys. You're certainly not cowardly. A gay kid who comes out while he's in high school has balls.
"How did you know I was gay?" Gordon asked.
"Chris told me. Only he didn't put it that way. He said..."
"Dad," Chris interrupted, "Please don't tell him what I said."
"Why?" Gordon asked. "Did you call me a faggot?"
"Yeah, Gordon, I did," Chris said with visible embarrassment. "But I didn't get away with it. We were in the locker room with the whole team standing around, and Dad smacked me across the face."
Gordon looked horrfied.
"What he said," Dave explained, "was, 'The kid's a fag. He even admits it'--as if your being gay gave him license to treat you like scum. I lost my temper; but I'm not sorry, because he got a taste of how you feel when some boorish jock calls you a fag."
"I've taught lots of gay boys," Dave said. "A number of them have come out to me, but only one of them ever dared to come out to the other kids. He was a football player--a big hulk, and he still have a very hard time. You have my respect, Gordon."
"Thanks, Mr. Gillespie," Gordon answered.
"Dave."
"Thanks, Dave."
"If you have any more trouble with the other guys," Chris said, "tell me about it."
When Gordon had left, Dave said to Chris, "Do you think that victory celebration is still going on?"
"Probably," Chris said. "Why?"
"Well, in a lot of ways its your party."
"You mean I can go?"
"Sure," Dave said. "You've paid your dues."
The incident in the locker room had dominated the conversation at the party, and all the guys were suprised when Chris arrived. They were, of course, eager to find out what had happened to him at home, but were discrete enough not to ask directly.
"Did you sneak out?" one of them asked.
"No. Things are cool at home now," Chris answered.
"We're going to get that little douche bag on Monday," Wade said.
"He's not a douche bag. His name is Gordon, and we're going to leave him alone."
"Did you go to sensitivity training or something?" Wade asked.
"I guess you could call it that," Chris said. "Does anybody else here need to be sensitized?"