Dad called them pillow parties.
I was 16 or 17 when he brought it up, once, over dinner. Mom, Dad, my little brother, and I were watching TV. “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” was a thing then, and 60 Minutes was asking and telling plenty. It made me uncomfortable. I wasn’t out to my family. I was barely out to myself.
Dad, an ex-Marine, wasn’t helping. He hated the thought of a gay man serving in the military. When the segment ended, he muted the TV to make sure we could hear him clearly.
“You know what we used to do with ‘em?” It was rhetorical. He continued before we could answer. “We’d throw pillow parties for ‘em.”
He explained: pillowcases, heavy rocks, a group of Marines, and an unsuspecting, suspected gay man asleep in the barracks. A bruised bedtime story. A sadistic Semper Fi sleepover. A pillow party. And if you want to see such hate in action, watch Stanley Kubrick’s Vietnam War movie “Full Metal Jacket.”
Great family dinner conversation, Dad. Pass the potatoes.