[Michael apologizes for an insensitive, homophobic remark he made earlier]
Michael: You gotta realize, man, where I'm comin' from, see. Where I come from, what you do with fags is punch 'em in the mouth.
[He gently, playfully punches Scotti's jaw]
Scotti: Does that make it right, Michael?
Michael: No. but, uh, on an Air Force base that's just the way it is, you know. Everybody's super-butch.
Scotti: Is that where you're from?
Michael: Yeah. And, y'know, everybody just talks like that, so I guess I've always been like that.
Scotti: Always?
Michael: Well, maybe not always. I remember when I was twelve, I knew a guy who was a fighter pilot. His name was Greg, and he was a lot more sensitive than the rest of 'em, you know. He used to... he kind of befriended me... . One time we went out fishing, hit a flash storm, came on us. We got really drenched. There was a cabin there, but nobody put any firewood inside, so we couldn't get a fire going, couldn't get dry. We took off all our clothes, though, and there were a couple-a blankets, and we wrapped up in the blankets and tried to get warm... . I guess I went to sleep like that.
[he pauses, and lets out a deep breath]
Michael: The next thing I knew, man, I was flyin' across the room and lights were - flashlights were in my eyes, and, uh, it was my father and a couple of non-coms with him, and they grabbed Greg, pushin' him around and yellin' obscene things, and, y'know, he flipped out. Anyway, the lesson of the story is that I learned, y'know, not to - I learned not to put hands on other men.
Scotti: Did you love him?
Michael: Yeah, I guess I did.
Scotti: Y'know, Michael, if it weren't for your old man, you'd be normal.
[They both laugh]
