This post may contain affiliate links. If you purchase through these links, I may earn a commission at no additional cost to you. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases. Read my Affiliate Disclosure.
I've always believed you can learn a great deal about someone's character by watching how he treats people when they're having a difficult time.
Not when everybody's happy.
Not when there's something to gain.
And certainly not when an audience is standing around waiting to applaud.
I'm talking about what someone does when another person is vulnerable, embarrassed, or struggling—and there isn't an obvious way to make things better.
Which brings me to Wayne Arnold.
Yes, that Wayne Arnold.
The obnoxious older brother from The Wonder Years who spent much of his adolescence tormenting Kevin, calling him names, and behaving as though being born first gave him a lifelong license to be a pain in the neck.
I wouldn't have nominated Wayne for any awards in brotherly consideration.
But there's one episode that makes me look at him differently.
It's called "Homecoming."
Wayne's childhood friend David "Wart" Wirtshafter returns from Vietnam, and the young man who comes home is struggling in ways his friends don't fully understand.
Then something happens at a football game.
Wart finds himself sitting alone in a parking lot, wearing only his underwear, with his clothes neatly piled beside him.
He's overwhelmed.
He tells Wayne that nothing seems to fit anymore.
And Wayne takes off his own shirt and gives it to him.
Just like that.
No grand speech.
No lecture about being tough.
No demand that Wart pull himself together.
The boy who spent years making his little brother miserable suddenly understands exactly what being a friend requires.
And I think it's one of the finest moments in the entire series.
Homecoming Was About More Than a High School Football Game
"Homecoming" premiered on September 23, 1992, as the first episode of the sixth and final season of The Wonder Years.
Fred Savage plays Kevin Arnold, our narrator and perpetually confused teenager.
Jason Hervey plays Kevin's older brother Wayne.
And Scott Menville plays Wayne's friend Wart.
The episode takes place in 1972, against the backdrop of the Vietnam War.
Kevin is sixteen, restless, and convinced that life ought to be more exciting than school, work, and ordinary suburban routines.
When a rival high school steals McKinley's knight mascot, Kevin becomes involved in an attempt to steal the rival school's owl.
It's the sort of adventure that feels terribly important when you're sixteen.
A little danger.
A little excitement.
A chance to impress people.
Meanwhile, Wart has returned from Vietnam.
And suddenly, the difference between Kevin's problems and Wart's becomes impossible to ignore.
Kevin is worried about high school.
Wart has been to war.
I don't say that to dismiss the concerns of teenagers. Their experiences matter to them, and growing up isn't always easy.
But I appreciate the way the episode allows Kevin to begin recognizing that other people can be facing difficulties far beyond anything he's experienced.
Sometimes growing up involves realizing that the world is considerably larger than your own problems.
And that the person who appears to have everything under control may be struggling more than you know.
Wayne and Wart Were Supposed to Go Into the Army Together
To appreciate "Homecoming," we should remember an earlier episode.
In "Private Butthead," which aired February 5, 1992, Wayne decides he wants to join the Army.
He's having difficulty figuring out what to do with his future.
His father, Jack Arnold, played by Dan Lauria, has expectations for him, and Wayne doesn't seem particularly confident about meeting them.
So Wayne and Wart pursue military enlistment.
But things don't turn out as planned.
Wayne doesn't qualify.
Wart goes.
Think about that for a moment.
Two friends who were planning to take a major step together end up on completely different paths.
One remains home, dealing with work, family, and the ordinary frustrations of growing up.
The other goes to Vietnam.
By the time Wart returns, the two young men have experienced very different things.
And I think that's part of what makes their reunion so moving.
Wayne still knows Wart as the friend he grew up with.
But Wart has been through experiences Wayne cannot fully understand.
That's not Wayne's fault.
And it doesn't mean the friendship has to end.
It means Wayne has to recognize that his friend may not be the same carefree boy he remembers.
Good friendship sometimes requires accepting that people have changed without treating those changes as a personal inconvenience.
That's a lesson worth learning whether the person is returning from military service, recovering from a terrible experience, or simply going through a difficult period of life.
Everyone Was Happy to See Wart. That Didn't Mean Everything Was Fine.
When Wart first returns, he's welcomed by people who are pleased to see him.
Wayne is excited.
The Arnold family is interested in his experiences.
There are questions about the war and the decorations he's received.
And Wart tries to participate in the familiar conversations.
But there's an awkwardness beneath the reunion.
People want to welcome home the boy they remember.
Wart is trying to find his place among people whose lives continued while he was away.
I don't think anyone is deliberately trying to hurt him in those early interactions.
They're happy to see him.
They simply don't know what to say.
And Wart doesn't seem to know how to explain what he's feeling.
I think that's realistic.
Sometimes people return from a difficult experience and discover that everyone expects them to pick up exactly where they left off.
Their old friends want to joke.
Their families want to celebrate.
And the world seems ready to move on.
But the person who went through the experience may not be ready.
The difficulty doesn't necessarily disappear just because everybody is pleased the person has come home.
And I think we should be careful about assuming that someone who looks physically healthy must be doing well emotionally.
Wart doesn't owe his friends a cheerful performance simply because they want a happy reunion.
He deserves room to be honest about how he's doing.
Even if the answer makes people uncomfortable.
One Cruel Word Helped Ruin Wart's Homecoming
There's another moment in this episode that makes me angry.
At the high school football game, someone calls Wart a murderer.
Think about the cruelty of that.
A young man returns from military service, attends a local football game, and is confronted by someone who decides to make him the target of an ugly accusation.
Now, I'm not going to turn this article into an argument about whether the Vietnam War was justified.
People had strong opinions about that war, and they had every right to debate their government's decisions.
But I don't believe opposing a war gives someone permission to humiliate an individual soldier.
Especially someone whose personal experiences and actions the heckler doesn't know.
You can condemn a war without treating every person who served in it as a villain.
Those are not contradictory positions.
And I think there's something especially cowardly about shouting an accusation at someone without having to answer for what you've said.
The heckler doesn't know what Wart experienced.
He doesn't know what Wart may be carrying home with him.
And he certainly isn't helping anyone by publicly humiliating him.
Wart withdraws from the gathering.
The people around him try to dismiss the incident.
But something has clearly changed.
I don't believe one shouted insult necessarily explains everything Wart is experiencing.
The episode doesn't give us enough information to reduce his distress to a single cause.
But the moment demonstrates how easily a community can make someone's return more difficult instead of offering welcome and understanding.
And sometimes the most decent thing a person can do is refuse to participate in that cruelty.
"Nothing Seems to Fit Anymore"
Then comes the scene I find unforgettable.
Kevin is caught up in his effort to steal the rival school's owl mascot.
He's enjoying a brief moment of triumph when he notices Wart sitting alone near the baseball field.
Wart has taken off his clothes and placed them in a neat pile beside him.
He's sitting there in his underwear, visibly distressed.
Wayne comes to his friend.
And Wart tells him something that sounds, at first, like a simple complaint about his clothing.
Nothing seems to fit anymore.
But of course, he isn't really talking about his shirt.
He's talking about his life.
The boy who left home doesn't feel comfortable in the world he returned to.
The familiar surroundings haven't changed enough to explain what he's feeling.
But he has changed.
And he doesn't know how to fit himself back into the ordinary life everyone else seems to be enjoying.
I think that's a heartbreaking way to express something so difficult.
Because sometimes people can't explain exactly what's wrong.
They just know that things don't feel the way they used to.
And when somebody is struggling to find the words, the last thing that person needs is an impatient audience demanding a satisfactory explanation.
Which brings me to Wayne.
Wayne Arnold Finally Knew When to Stop Being a Jerk
I don't want to pretend Wayne had suddenly become the wisest man in America.
He hadn't.
He was still Wayne Arnold.
He could be obnoxious, immature, and thoroughly exhausting.
But in this moment, something remarkable happens.
He recognizes that Wart needs help.
And instead of making the situation worse by joking about his friend sitting there in his underwear, Wayne responds with kindness.
He takes off his shirt.
He offers it to Wart.
And he stays with him.
That's it.
And that's enough to make the scene extraordinary.
Because Wayne doesn't pretend he understands everything Wart has experienced.
He doesn't tell him to get over it.
He doesn't make some ridiculous speech about how real men don't cry.
And he doesn't turn his friend's distress into an embarrassing spectacle.
He gives him something practical and offers comfort.
Now, obviously, a shirt isn't going to solve whatever Wart is struggling with.
And the episode doesn't suggest that one kind gesture can erase the impact of war.
But that's not the point.
Wayne couldn't make Wart's world fit again. He could, however, make sure his friend wasn't sitting there alone.
And I think that's a beautiful lesson.
Sometimes we become so concerned about finding the perfect solution that we forget to offer the help that's actually within our reach.
Real Men Don't Have to Pretend They're Invincible
I've never understood why some people treat emotional distress as an embarrassment, particularly when the person experiencing it is male.
We're perfectly comfortable expecting boys and men to demonstrate courage, responsibility, loyalty, and strength.
But let a grown man cry, and suddenly somebody starts telling him to toughen up.
What exactly is that supposed to accomplish?
If a man has been through something frightening or painful, pretending it didn't affect him isn't proof of superior character.
And if he's struggling, mocking him isn't going to make him stronger.
Wart had served in a war.
He had returned home.
That didn't mean he was obligated to handle every emotion privately so other people wouldn't feel uncomfortable.
And Wayne understood something that plenty of supposedly mature adults fail to grasp.
His friend needed compassion, not criticism.
I don't believe compassion requires treating someone as helpless.
And I don't believe every difficult feeling needs to become a public conversation.
People are entitled to privacy.
But there's nothing admirable about making someone ashamed of having a hard time.
Strength isn't always the ability to endure something without crying. Sometimes it's the courage to admit that something has affected you.
And sometimes it's the decency to remain beside someone who's struggling.
Wayne demonstrated the second kind of strength beautifully.
The Biggest Surprise Was Who Showed the Kindness
One of the reasons this scene works so well is that Wayne has never been presented as a particularly sensitive person.
Throughout The Wonder Years, he regularly torments Kevin.
He teases him.
He interrupts him.
He calls him names.
And he frequently behaves as though his younger brother exists for his personal amusement.
I'm not especially inclined to excuse all that behavior by calling it ordinary sibling rivalry.
Children can be cruel to one another, and adults shouldn't always dismiss it as harmless fun.
But this episode reveals another side of Wayne.
He's capable of recognizing genuine suffering.
He's capable of putting aside his usual smart remarks.
And he's capable of giving something of himself without expecting a reward.
I like that.
Because people aren't always as simple as we make them out to be.
Somebody who behaves foolishly in one situation may demonstrate remarkable character in another.
That doesn't erase the earlier behavior.
Wayne still owes Kevin a good deal more consideration than he usually gives him.
But it reminds us that character is revealed through choices, including the choice to behave differently when circumstances demand it.
And I think Wayne's response to Wart is one of his finest choices.
For once, he doesn't need to be the toughest, funniest, or loudest person in the room.
He just needs to be a friend.
Helping Somebody Doesn't Mean You Have to Fix His Entire Life
Here's the practical lesson I'd take from this episode.
Suppose a friend is going through something difficult.
Maybe he's lost his job.
Maybe he's experienced a death in the family.
Maybe he's returned from a demanding experience and is having trouble adjusting.
Or perhaps something is clearly bothering him, but he isn't ready to explain.
I wouldn't immediately launch into advice.
I wouldn't tell him that everything happens for a reason.
And I certainly wouldn't make the conversation about how uncomfortable his feelings were making me.
I'd begin with something simple.
"I'm glad you're here. You don't have to explain everything right now. Is there anything I can do?"
Then I'd listen.
If he needed a ride, I'd consider whether I could provide one.
If he wanted company, I'd spend some time with him.
If he needed privacy, I'd respect that while making sure he knew help was available.
And if there were serious concerns about his immediate safety, I'd take those concerns seriously and involve appropriate help.
I wouldn't assume that a friendly conversation could solve every problem.
But I also wouldn't assume that because I couldn't solve the whole problem, I had nothing worthwhile to offer.
Sometimes ordinary kindness matters.
A meal.
A phone call.
A ride home.
Or, in Wayne's case, the shirt off your back.
The gesture doesn't have to be impressive.
I explored that same principle in "What The Golden Girls Taught Us About Being a Good Friend." Dorothy, Rose, Blanche, and Sophia had plenty of disagreements, but their friendships mattered most when somebody needed understanding rather than another lecture.
It has to be sincere.
The Difference Between Sympathy and Decency
There's something else I appreciate about this scene.
Wayne doesn't appear interested in receiving credit for being compassionate.
He isn't helping Wart because somebody is watching.
He's not giving a speech about friendship.
He isn't waiting for Kevin to congratulate him.
He's simply responding to a person he cares about.
And that's the kind of generosity I admire most.
Not the sort that requires a photographer.
Not the kind that comes with an announcement about how wonderful the giver is.
And certainly not the kind that allows the helper to remind the recipient for years that he owes him something.
Genuine decency shouldn't become a lifelong debt.
If you're helping someone, do it because you want to help.
Not because you want to control what that person does afterward.
I believe that's an important distinction.
It's possible to make a generous gesture while behaving selfishly about it.
And it's possible to offer something very small that means a great deal.
Wayne's shirt wasn't valuable.
What mattered was that he noticed Wart needed it.
And he didn't hesitate.
Being a Mensch Means Showing Up When It Matters
I've written plenty about television characters who talk a good game about morality.
They lecture their children.
They make speeches about responsibility.
They insist everyone ought to behave decently.
Then, when a real opportunity to demonstrate those principles comes along, some of them turn out to be remarkably disappointing.
Wayne Arnold isn't like that in this episode.
He doesn't announce that he's a compassionate person.
He demonstrates it.
And I think that's a much better measure of character.
Being a mensch doesn't mean being perfect.
It doesn't mean you've never said anything foolish or treated someone badly.
But it does mean recognizing that another person's dignity matters.
It means knowing when a joke isn't appropriate.
And it means doing what you reasonably can when someone needs help.
I also think friendship requires a willingness to accept people when they're not at their best.
It's easy to enjoy someone who's funny, successful, confident, and full of energy.
It's less convenient when that person is struggling.
But that's when friendship begins to mean something more than simply enjoying each other's company.
Wayne didn't get the carefree version of Wart he'd known before Vietnam.
He got his friend as he was, sitting alone and overwhelmed.
And instead of demanding that Wart become his old self again, Wayne met him where he was.
That, to me, is loyalty.
Loyalty is one of the most important lessons in Friendship 101 — The Golden Girls Academy of Loyalty, our Couch Potato U course about honesty, consideration, and standing by the people who matter to us.
Kevin Learned Something More Important Than Winning a Prank
There's another reason I love the construction of "Homecoming."
Kevin spends much of the episode trying to prove himself.
He's tired of feeling like an ordinary kid.
He wants excitement.
He wants recognition.
He wants the satisfaction of pulling off something daring.
And for a little while, stealing a school mascot feels like a grand accomplishment.
Then he sees Wart.
And suddenly the entire adventure seems very small.
It's not that Kevin's life doesn't matter.
It's that he begins recognizing there's a world beyond the concerns that have been occupying him.
He's confronted with genuine suffering.
And he witnesses an act of compassion from the last person he might have expected to provide a lesson in maturity.
His older brother.
I find that particularly moving.
Because Wayne has spent so much time making Kevin feel small.
Yet in the moment that matters, Kevin sees his brother behave like a grown man.
Not because Wayne is older.
Not because he's stronger.
But because he recognizes what another person needs and responds with kindness.
Sometimes children learn their most important lessons by watching adults.
And sometimes they learn by watching other young people make a better choice than anyone expected.
That's what makes this scene work.
The Wonder Years Understood That Growing Up Isn't Just About Age
I think The Wonder Years was at its best when it showed the difference between getting older and becoming more mature.
Kevin could be intelligent and still behave selfishly.
Jack Arnold could be a responsible father and still struggle to express affection.
And Wayne could act like an obnoxious adolescent while demonstrating extraordinary tenderness when the situation called for it.
That's real life.
People aren't consistent characters in a morality play.
They have strengths and weaknesses.
They make foolish decisions.
They surprise us.
And sometimes a person we've underestimated does something genuinely admirable.
I don't believe one kind gesture excuses years of bad behavior.
But I also don't believe somebody should be denied credit for doing something good simply because he hasn't always been a model citizen.
Wayne deserved credit for what he did.
And Wart deserved the respect and support he received.
The episode also leaves us with an important reminder about the difference between returning home and feeling at home.
Wart was back among people who knew him.
He was back in familiar surroundings.
But he was struggling to feel that he belonged.
And one act of friendship couldn't necessarily resolve all of that.
Yet it could remind him that he wasn't alone.
The Shirt Wasn't the Lesson. The Kindness Was.
I've watched enough television to know that writers sometimes try far too hard to make a point.
They give characters grand speeches.
They arrange dramatic confrontations.
And they make sure everyone understands the moral before the credits roll.
But I think the scene between Wayne and Wart is powerful precisely because it doesn't need much explanation.
Wart is hurting.
Wayne sees it.
And Wayne helps.
But I think there's something even more profound happening in that scene.
Wart went to Vietnam as an innocent young man and came home having seen things that changed him forever. Perhaps he witnessed terrible suffering. Perhaps he's struggling with things he was forced to do. We aren't told everything, and that's part of what makes the scene so heartbreaking.
When Wart takes off his clothes and says nothing fits anymore, I see a young man who no longer recognizes himself. It's as though the innocence he left home with has been stripped away, and the person standing in its place doesn't know where he belongs.
And then Wayne gives him his shirt.
What a beautiful gesture.
Wayne can't give Wart back the innocence he lost. He can't undo the war or erase whatever Wart is carrying inside him. But he can offer something the war may have made Wart doubt still exists: simple, uncomplicated human goodness.
For one moment, Wart doesn't have to be a soldier, a hero, or the person someone at the football game called a murderer.
He's simply Wayne's friend.
And Wayne treats him like someone worthy of kindness.
Maybe the shirt doesn't make Wart whole again. But it reminds him that the world hasn't lost every bit of its decency—and neither has he.
I think that's what makes the scene so moving. Wayne isn't just helping his friend get dressed. In a small but meaningful way, he's helping him find his way back to humanity.
And there's another layer to that gesture that I find especially beautiful.
Wart says nothing seems to fit anymore. After Vietnam, he no longer feels comfortable in the world he once knew. He doesn't feel like the same person, and perhaps he wonders whether he still belongs.
So what does Wayne do?
He gives him a shirt that fits.
Wart says nothing fits. Wayne gives him something that does.
Maybe that's Wayne's way of telling his friend, without saying a word, that there's still a place for him. He doesn't have to be the same innocent boy who left for Vietnam. He doesn't have to pretend the war didn't change him.
He's still Wart. He's still Wayne's friend. And he still belongs.
It's that simple.
And I don't believe simple means insignificant.
Sometimes the most important expression of friendship isn't a promise to be there forever.
It's being there when somebody actually needs you.
Not insisting that you know what they're going through.
Not demanding that they feel better immediately.
Just treating them with dignity and consideration.
Wayne Arnold couldn't give Wart back the life he'd known before Vietnam. But he could give him his shirt, his company, and a moment of understanding.
And he did.
For a boy who spent so much of The Wonder Years behaving like a complete butthead, that was a pretty remarkable accomplishment.
I still wouldn't nominate him for Brother of the Year.
But I'd nominate him for Friend of the Year based on that moment alone.
Because sometimes being a mensch isn't about having the perfect answer.
It's about recognizing when someone needs you to stop talking and start caring.
And if all you've got to offer is the shirt off your back?
Well, sometimes that's a pretty good place to start.
Sources and Further Reading
Want to Watch the Show?
Find your favorite classic TV shows on DVD or Blu-ray at Amazon.
As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.
Enjoyed This Article?
Get more TV nostalgia, good laughs, and life lessons delivered to your inbox. Subscribe to CouchDegree.com!
