This summer I have been thinking a whole lot. I mean about questions. I guess other boys don't have so many questions. I must have thought about questions last year, in kindergarten, and even before that, but I asked those questions. Usually, I asked my mommy, because my daddy is at work so much, and when he isn't at work, he doesn't like to answer questions. He likes to read the newspaper, and he likes to go to Republican Club meetings, and he likes to sleep. He sleeps in the biggest chair in front of the television, except when the Yankees are playing baseball on the television. He stays awake for that, and he calls me Whitey, because of the Yankee pitcher, and because my hair is so light colored blond. But if the Sunday afternoon game is rained out, Channel Two shows the Picture for a Sunday Afternoon, and daddy falls asleep. He sleeps late on Saturdays, too. He goes to the Republican Club a lot, too. This year, President Eisenhower is letting my daddy drive the Republican Club Trailer on weekends. I go with him sometimes, but President Eisenhower is never there, only Mr. Forbes is there. Mr. Forbes is running for the United States Senate. Every state is allowed to have two Senators, and Mr. Forbes wants to be one for New Jersey. The other Senator for New Jersey is already elected. Mr. Forbes has a daddy, too, and his daddy is called Mr. Forbes, too, and he is even older than the first Mr. Forbes, because he is his daddy. The old Mr. Forbes has a magazine of his very own, and it is called Forbes, too, and it made him very rich. That is why the other Mr. Forbes, his son, wants to be the Senator, since he wants to be rich, too, and will be, if the poor people don't steal his daddy's money. The bad Senator, Mr. Williams, is a Democrat, and that is bad, because Democrats start wars and raise taxes, and if they raise taxes, then Mr. Forbes won't get his daddy's money, since the poor people will steal it, and those people in Washington will help them. Those people in Washington are called pinko's. My daddy said so. My daddy talks loud when he talks about pinko's, and he wants everyone to agree with him, but some of my mommy's cousins don't. That is when they all talk very loud, and another time they all talk loud is when cousin Mickey taps his keg. It is full of beer and he keeps it in his garage. They fill glasses and pitchers and there is always more in the keg. It is a lot of beer. All of the grown-ups talk louder and louder, and drink more and more beer. That is when they talk mean about Negro people like Louise, who helps my mommy clean the house. The cousins tell all us kids, me and my little sister, and the cousins who are the kids of the grown-up cousins, that we will turn Negro if we eat too much chocolate ice cream or chocolate candy bars. It's not true, though, because I eat chocolate candy bars, and I don't even have a sun tan, and my hair is still blond and straight. The grown-ups say it is true, and then they all laugh loud. That is a funny laugh, because it sounds mean, and laughing is not supposed to be mean, it is supposed to be fun. One time, after we got home from the cousin's house, on another day, I asked my mommy if eating too much of chocolate, which is very good, can make you turn out bad, like into a Negro, then being a Negro must be bad. She said that's right. I said, but don't Negros only have Negro babies, and are their babies bad, too? That is one of the questions I can't ask anymore, because I know I won't get an answer, since my mommy asks me a question instead. She says why do you always ask me, or where did you get that idea. After the primary election, all the grown-ups wanted to celebrate, like a party, so they decided to eat Chinese dinner at the restaurant. They all like Chinese food, so I asked my mommy if she liked Chinese people. She said yes. So I asked can Chinese people only have Chinese babies, and she said yes, so I asked if Chinese babies are good. She said of course. I asked her if Negro babies are good, and she said yes, when they are young, and then she looked at my daddy, and they both laughed. They think I am silly, but I know they told a lie. They were just being mean. My mommy used to say she could tell when I was lying, if I broke something, and I said I don't know, when she asked me what happened. Now I have learned how to do it, too. I can tell when she is lying. So it's no use asking a question anymore, if mommy or daddy don't want me to know the real answer. Sometimes I only ask part of a question, because if I ask all of it, they would act like I was silly, or tell me a lie, or maybe even be mad at me. Like when my friend Eddie and me got yelled at by old Mrs. Stevens who doesn't like anybody and never comes out of her house. She opened her window and called us pigs when we were having fun in the street. We both got so scared, we both ran to our houses. Then I got mad, because I was having fun with Eddie, and now he went home, and me too, and now I'm all alone. So I asked mommy why Mrs. Stevens was so mean. Mommy said I don't think she is. I said she called Eddie and me pigs. She said why, what did you do. I said we didn't do anything wrong. I could tell mommy didn't believe me, she just said uh-huh. That's why I didn't tell her that we peed in the street. She would say that was bad, and we were pigs. But it was fun. I liked to see Eddie's pee-pee. That makes me think of another question I can't ask. What is wrong with the man in the Marine Corps named Chris? They talk about him when they are drinking beer and making mean sounding jokes again. Mostly it is my daddy, who was in the Marine Corps with Chris when they were younger. The pictures my daddy has of himself from then look like men, but they say they were just boys then, and Chris liked the other boys too much. Then they laugh and hold their arms up and let their hands hang loose and floppy. They call it limp wristed. My hands are like that sometimes, so I decide not to do that anymore, ever, because I like boys too much, too. I thought it was good to like somebody. I can't ask them those questions, they would be mad at me. I think I know what they are making fun of, and I think it is me, but they don't know I am like that, and I decide they won't ever know. I can too lie. They're the ones who can't. When I went down Eddie's basement to see all his toy soldiers, I wanted to see his pee-pee again, and we were the only ones down there. I felt funny being alone with him, and he looked at me, and he smiled and pulled my shorts. So I smiled, too, and pulled his shorts, and we pulled each other's shorts down to our ankles, and our underpants, too. I wanted to touch his pee-pee, and so I did. When he touched mine, his mommy yelled from upstairs, that it was time for his dinner, and then I had to go home. That is when we moved to another town, and I didn't get to touch Eddie again. He was my best friend. Now I am sitting in my new room, in the new house, in the new town, and I am practicing holding my wrist right. It looks funny if you hold your hand flat, with the fingers straight out, if you don't let your wrist be limp, so it looks best if you make a fist when you make sure you are not limp wristed. I have to keep practicing for when I go to the first grade in the new school. Some boys here already called me a sissy, and I could feel my face turn red. I said am not, but I hurt inside, because I know I am. I will have to keep it secret. When I am a lot older, like in sixth grade, I will have a great big bicycle, and I will be allowed to cross streets, and I will ride to my old town to see Eddie again, and we will hold each other's pee-pee, and pee in the woods. I wish I wasn't only six.

ps. I promise this is all true.

Love,

Whitey