Peter Newkirk (age, 11):

(June 21, 1928)

Katherine Newkirk sat at the table helping her youngest, eight year old Mavis, with her math homework, while retired Warrant Officer Richard Newkirk sat in his rocking chair reading the evening newspaper. All was quiet at the Newkirk residence, when an unexpected knock came from the door. Richard set his paper down in his lap and removed the pipe in his mouth as his eyebrow rose in suspicion.

"The hell is that?" He asked, particularly no one.

"Did you invite someone over, Richard?" Katherine asked, her shoulders tensing and muscles locking.

"Stay there with Mavis," Richard told her, rising to his feet and grabbing the pistol he kept nearby. "Let me handle this." He quietly approached the door, cocked his gun, and abruptly pulled the door open to reveal two police officers standing there with his oldest, 11 year old Peter, in handcuffs. Richard lowered his weapon, but his facial expression darkened at the sight before him. "God dammit, boy, what the hell have you been up to now?" He barked.

"We're sorry to disturb you this late, Mr. Newkirk," the one officer began. "We are sorry to inform you your son has been caught with his third shoplifting violation. A group of his friends were caught at the drug store earlier tonight trying to steal packs of cigarettes."

"He does it again, and we'll be forced to arrest and book him into the system." The second officer explained.

"Arrest him," Katherine gasped, getting to her feet. "Arrest my Peter?"

"Skipped school again as well, which means we will also charge him with truancy along with felony shoplifting," the first officer said.

"He won't be doing any of that, Officer, I assure you," Richard answered, yanking his son inside, the handcuffs now removed from his hands. "Thank you for bringing him home safely."

Both officers nodded in acknowledgement, bid the Newkirks 'goodnight', then Richard closed the door and turned to his son red faced. Peter simply looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet back and forth against the floor. Eventually he lifted his eyes to his parents and saw both of them frowning at him, his mother looking on in disappointment, while his father looked like he was about to kill someone.

The silence lingered for a long moment before Peter found the guts to open his mouth and say something. "Good evening?" He asked cautiously.

"You damn blockhead, how many times have your mother and I told you not to shoplift with those hoodlum friends of yours?" Richard hollered.

"Skipping school again?" Katherine added. "Peter Richard Newkirk, I told you your education comes before fun. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"It's not my fault school's boring. How would you two feel if you had to sit eight hours a day at a desk and listen to the same stuff every day just to come home afterwards and do even more studying on it?" Peter remarked defensively.

"You prefer I sent you to military school and having to get up at four in the morning every day instead? I have every right in mind to send you there in order to shape you up and learn some damn manners," Richard said, his tone gruff and cold.

"Military school!" Peter exclaimed. "I ain't going to no military school and leaving my friends behind."

"You'll go wherever the bloody hell I decide to send you! You can live out in the streets if I say so. You do nothing but cause trouble and don't give a damn who it hurts in result. When are you gonna grow up and start acting like a man? You're nothing but a damn scoundrel! Military school is a blessing compared to what jail will be like!"

"Enough, Richard," Katherine said, butting in. "No one's going anywhere except for Peter to his room." She turned her eyes back to her son. "You're grounded as of now, young man. Two weeks at least. Four if I hear about you skipping school again. And you can forget about supper if you continue to speak to us like that."

Peter threw his backpack on the ground, stormed up the stairs to go to his bedroom, and slammed the door as hard as he could behind him. Once alone, he crossed his arms and shook his head. "They think I'm nothing but a big baby, that's what. I don't need them anyways," he told himself. He pulled out the flyer he found earlier from his pocket and unfolded it. Recruitment for the circus. Ages 18 and older. New people welcomed every year.

He folded the ad back up and hid it in the Bible he kept at his bedside table. The plan was already set. It was so well thought out it would be mere impossible to know an 11 year old thought of it. He would continue to go to school like his mother wished until he graduated high school at 18. After that, he was joining the circus and running away from home. No rules, no school, and no parents. He would be free as a bird. He could smoke, drink, and party whenever he wanted without someone telling him 'no'.

Unfortunately, until he was 18 and a high school graduate, it was nothing more than a mere dream. Until then he was stuck with homework, boring teachers, and his drill sergeant father screaming and hollering at him to get up every morning at five in the morning. One thing was for certain, though. Never, not in a million years, would he ever join the military like his father had. Fat chance in Hell. Listening to orders from some hot headed officer that thought he was better than everyone, having to follow rules word for word, not having the freedom to go wherever and do whatever he wanted…no. It would never happen. Not if he had anything to say about it.

Peter kicked off his shoes, fell into bed, and closed his eyes. Forgetting all about the piling homework on his desk, he slowly drifted off into dream land and began to imagine the fun, care free life ahead of him once school was done and behind him.