The year was 1981. I was 3 years old. I was walking with my dad and we stopped at a corner waiting for the light to change so we could cross the street. A punk came up and stood beside us. He was wearing all denim, had a mohawk and large dangling earrings. I asked my dad "Why is that guy wearing earrings?". My dad made eye contact with him and said very loudly "because he's a faggot". The guy looked away, his face turned red and he was willing the light to change faster. I asked my dad "what's a faggot?". Without missing a beat, my dad pinted right at his head and said "him". The guy ran off in embarrassment. I miss the days when people could be called out and as long as it wad true, nothing happened to the one calling them out.