 Why doesn’t Wayne like his parents?
Wayne, unseen, sneered down from the head of the stairs. His slim mother with nervously polite smiles and voice fluttering, assuring the old man by her frailty that he was big in the world. They were squareheads one and all, marking moron time in a gray dream. He strode under a sign reading Public Youth Center No. 947 and walked casually to the reception desk, where a thin man with sergeant's stripes and a pansy haircut looked out of a pile of paperwork. "Thanks, sarge dear," Wayne said and took the elevator up to the Armory. He checked them on a receipt ledger, while Wayne examined the weapons, broke open the revolver, twirled the cylinder and pushed cartridges into the waiting chamber.
 He feels that they are soft and stupid, that they’ve given up on what life has to offer.
 His parents broke out when they were much younger than the age he is now, and he is embarrassed by this.  His parents want to keep him from breaking out, knowing that the horrors Wayne will face are too much for him.  No reason. Wayne is a bad egg and enjoys tormenting them.  He feels that they are soft and stupid, that they’ve given up on what life has to offer.