I was 10 years old, July 1976. It was on a 3 day camping trip to Cape Cod with the Webelos (between cub scouts and boy scouts). On Saturday, we went to Provincetown, Mass at the tip of the Cape, where my father had rented a sailboat for the day. As the whole group was walking up a cobbled street towards the marina, another boy pushed me off the sidewalk into a parked car.
I turned and yelled "faggot" at him.
I heard a gasp from everyone in earshot. Not just the parents, but all the other people on the street. And as I turned to look, everyone was looking at me, and most looked REALLY angry.
I asked my father "What did I say?". He hurriedly pulled me aside and tried to explain, but I thought he MUST be kidding. Two guys? Kissing? Yuck.
But as I looked around, I noticed a number of men holding hands as they walked down the street. Quite an eye opener.
Of course afterwards I was on restriction for a week. For using the word? No. My father was mad that I used the word when I didn't understand what it meant. THAT is a lesson I took to heart.
Jerry Johnson
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