How I Became HIV-Positive

Picture it: Lonely, 23-year-old black boy has no one to turn to about his burgeoning sexuality.

He's going through the toughest time of his life while struggling to finish his senior year at UCLA in 1985.

Weeks before graduation, the lonely black boy is feeling especially lonely. He turns to the only outlet he knows: the dark places where grown men roam, getting relief, and sometimes more than they bargained for.

That night, the black boy meets another man and acquires more than he bargained for--that one, momentarily-not-so-lonely moment in West Hollywood, a stone's throw from campus.

"We don't know much about AIDS, but we do know it's caused by a virus."

A short time later, the black boy becomes the only male in his family to graduate college.

In early July, the young black college grad gets a job, a new apartment and a brand new futon. Each night, the young black man soaks the brand new futon in his own feverish sweat, unsure why.

On July 25, a doctor on TV reveals the reason for his night sweats.

Earlier that day, famous actor Rock Hudson had made his shocking “I have AIDS” announcement. That night, as reporters introduce America to “the deadly disease,” the young black man receives his own personal introduction.

“We don't know much about AIDS,” declares one doctor, “but we do know it's caused by a virus, and night sweats are the first symptom, usually occurring a few weeks after exposure.”

The young black man--age 23, a UCLA graduate of one month--does the math, backwards to that one, momentarily-not-so-lonely moment a few weeks before graduation.

He stares at the television, eyes glazed, realizing that one moment had changed his life forever.

How I Became a Writer

While growing up the youngest and most vulnerable in a violent household, I learned a valuable lesson: to survive, use silence and stealth. So I went inward, told myself stories from a very early age.

My challenged childhood also taught me another important lesson: the value of choosing words carefully. Wrong word: pain. Right word: pass.

My family's life revolved around sports, and so did my stories. Here Come the Tigercats! was one of my earliest efforts. A ragtag bunch of kids who end up winning it all in basketball.

"A seminal moment in college made me a wordsmith for life."

In high school, I became a journalism student. By senior year, I was (the first black?) editor-in-chief of my school paper, the Northern Lights of North Central High School in Indianapolis, Indiana.

I continued telling myself stories throughout my youth. A fan of the soaps, I created my very own version of Dallas. Fate willing, I'll be returning to Tulsa in an upcoming novel.

A seminal moment in college made me a wordsmith for life. It happened during my third year in school, while back at home, recuperating from an illness.

I was in the midst of a yearlong literary frenzy where I was more interested in reading fiction than textbooks. I buried myself in classics like Catcher in the Rye and A Separate Peace, and works by men like John Irving and Anton Myrer, author of The Last Convertible and the great war epic, Once an Eagle.

"My writing is like my gold, forged in a hellish childhood."

During my recovery, while reading Myrer's A Green Desire, a dramatic twist struck me as so magically brilliant and creative, it inspired a spontaneous outburst from within: I wanna do that! shouted my inner brain. Like a kid seeing a magic trick that sets fire to his soul.

From that moment forward, I aspired to be a storyteller who, like Irving and Myrer, could spin tales and like a magician, pull words out of a hat in a way that makes people go, ahhhhh.

I've come to realize: my writing is like my gold, forged in a hellish childhood where a boy's imagination was his only escape. I can't change that childhood, but I can be thankful for my gold and I can also use it wisely.

After all, my gold is the best I resource I possess in this life.

How I Became a Male Cheerleader

I began 1980 as a high school senior in Indianapolis, Indiana, and ended the year as a freshman yell leader at USC in Los Angeles.

Prior to college, I had no previous cheerleading experience and had never stepped foot in California, not even for a campus visit.

In September, I became a USC student. In October, I became a USC yell leader, a position I held for two years before transferring and graduating from UCLA, where I was also a cheerleader for two years.

So how does a black kid from the Midwest with zero prior experience become a cheerleader for two crosstown rivals during one college career?

"From that day forward, I studied cheerleaders like a Jedi knight in training."

How was I able to try out for college cheerleading a total of five times and make it five times?

How was I fortunate enough to cheer for Marcus Allen of USC during his 1981 Heisman Trophy season, and Reggie Miller of UCLA during his 1985 NIT Championship run?

If only they knew why ... lol

In college, I never told anyone that, since age seven, I had been a student of cheerleading. They didn't know my sister taught me cheerleading one fateful day in my childhood, a day that transformed me into ... a cheerleader for life.

From that day forward, I studied cheerleaders like a Jedi knight in training. I practiced their moves, dissected their actions, became a commentator and a connoisseur, all while growing up in a male-dominated family whose lives revolved around sports.

Cheerleading became as much a part of my life as sports. At home, usually in private, I practiced what I studied. My imaginary sidelines became a refuge from the very cruel realities of my environment.

In college, I never spoke of those cruel realities. In part, because the job of a cheerleader is to only represent the best of yourself, your school, your world. And since, I was a cheerleader from month two of college, I was all about living out the role of my lifetime, a role for which I had been prepping for since age seven, unbeknownst to anyone in college.

Because I discovered I was more “state-school material,” I eventually transferred to UCLA, where it was only natural to continue doing what I do, so I became, duh!, a UCLA cheerleader.

As for loyalty, I grew up in Indiana, so I'll always be a Hoosier at heart. But when it comes to Trojans vs. Bruins. Let's just say I root for the school for which I was better suited, and that served me better.

Go Bruins!

When Life Gives You AIDS ...

Got scary diagnosis? Have fear. It's only natural. Then press pause and realize: you have a choice. You can start dreaming your worst, as in your worst nightmares, or you can start dreaming your best, as in good dreams do come true. Need proof? Check out the Most Important Thing AIDS Has Taught Me.

Skylights Gleaming

He had never known any kind of love at all.

He was the crazy one, the different one, the wrong one.

Too much. Had he ever let another soul near his heart who hadn’t uttered those words?

And the award for phrase most heard throughout his lifetime goes to ... You’re too much.

All these years, his cocky-one-minute, feel-like-shit-the-next-minute ass had never dreamed of a satisfactory retort. And drawing blanks was a rarity for his sharp-witted mind.

And you’re never enough! No, I’m just right!

Re-write! the editor upstairs would demand, flinging the weak pages in the air.

"I’m way too much for anyone with a shred of decency to wanna be seen with."

You see, buddy, I’m a big fat ugly infected faggy nasty dirty sick man. I have sex with fags. I am one of the fags.

Sure, if I’m glowing, people start looking at me with stars in their eyes. Yeah, I can glow like dat. I got dat.

I can whip this body into all kinds a hella shape in the blink of an eye. I can go from fat ass to badass, and the whole world buys it. Just give my obsessive-compulsive, bad fat ass a couple of months to exercise, hold the food.

I can do whatever the fuck I want sometimes. Sometimes, I’m the king of the world. Sometimes, I’m even big league. Until it all vanishes, sometimes so instantly, I can literally feel it leaving my body.

"I wanna go home but I don’t know where home is."

I’m way too much for anyone with a shred of decency to wanna be seen with. Oh, sure, all golden and cool and dreamy on the outside. And I talk one cool and dreamy game. True? I got skillz. I also got loneliness.

I also gotta get off this cliff.

Watch your step. Make sure you’re around for the show. Some kind of newfangled fireworks, skylights.

Skylights?

Can’t you see all the stars in the night sky? Look up. Unless you think you’re gonna lose your balance.

I wanna go home but I don’t know where home is.

Can't see your way clearly?

Can't see a damned thing.

Try seeing a blessed thing.

Not even the skylights. They're not shining, just gleaming, can't see clearly now, can barely see, can barely remember ...

—from Walt Loves the Bearcat
by Randy Boyd
A Lambda Literary Award Finalist for Best Romance

"Warm-spirited ... resonates with soulful queries into the nature of love and life." Bay Area Reporter

10 Things I Learned While Trikking

10. A moderate Trikke ride in cold, crappy weather is better than any workout inside a cold, crappy gym.

9. Trikking uphill or against a good stiff wind does wonders for the arms.

8. Even though “looks like a lot of hard work” is a comment often heard while riding, Trikking never, ever, ever! really seems like hard work.

7. Even though trikking never, ever seems like hard work, trikking is absolutely the best form of exercise dreamt up by humankind.

6. Most women look at the Trikke and think, “is it fun?” Most men look at the Trikke and think, “is it a good workout?” Most kids look at the Trikke and think, “cool!”

5. The word cool is still the word kids use to best describe something they find really, really ... cool.

4. I can't deny the enjoyment of being in the spotlight for riding on this newfangled, extreme-athlete-looking, 21st-century, three-wheel-bike-thingy in what is still most definitely a bike world.

3. This decade or the next will be the decade of the Trikke. The young kids of today see the Trikke and their eyes light up with wonderment, oftentimes so overwhelming they're rendered speechless. In a few years, those kids will be able to speak up a little better. Many of them will want Trikkes! Then their friends will want Trikkes!

2. Someday, Trikkes will be commonplace the world over, like bicycles.

1. Someday, I'm going to miss the enjoyment of being in the spotlight for riding on this newfangled bike-thingy.

• from Big Boys, Big Toys, part of the blocks labeled Trikke Randy, now and forever at Randy Boyd's Blocks

A Teenage Fag Who Plays Sports?

"Call it what you want, but I never wanted to be on the court or the field and not have a legitimate turn in the spotlight.

I was born to carry the ball, maybe not literally, but I was born to be ... center stage, at least for part of the time, in the game of life. I warred with my coaches over it, especially in football."

See how an even bigger war was brewing in Black Teen's Tough Choice: Play Sports or Be a Fag, now and forever on Randy Boyd's Blocks.

Obama Has a Secret

How does a black man, whose middle name is Hussein, keep defying the odds and doing the impossible? Become the first black president? Check. Become the first president to pass massive healthcare reform, which other presidents have tried for generations? Done.

Fight for major Wall Street reform? Doing that. Representing America well as a calm, composed, presidential leader. Got that. Watching Barack Obama in action is like watching the winner of America's Next Top President take on the world.

Remove politics for a moment and admit it: he's a joy to watch.

So how does he do it? Pssst. Obama's got a secret that's more like a secret weapon. It's amazing. But wait there's more! You, too, can discover the Secret to Obama's Success.

Best Doggone Week Ever!

Hip here, canine star of Walt Loves the Bearcat, as well as your recent host for When In Doubt, Pet the Dog Week, the special celebration of When In Doubt, Pet the Dog, a memoir thingy on my author's blog.

It was the first-ever theme week on Randy Boyd's Blocks and word on the pee-mail trail smells good! Pet the Dog Week was a howling success. The ratings, I mean, page hits were up! The network executives inside my author's brain are ecstatic.

They're also planning more theme weeks and another Pet the Dog Week, or two, or three. Hey, does my agent know about this? Expect my fees to rise, like the cast of Friends after their big success. Can you say one million bones per episode?

Thanks for tuning into Pet the Dog Week here on the Blocks, hosted by yours truly, Hip! And stay tuned for more When In Doubt, Pet the Dog coming soon.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some network executives to bite.

Dear Ryan White, Wish You Were Here

Dear Ryan White,

Boy, do I wish you were still alive.

Born in 1971, you'd be in your late 30s by now, like the rest of your gen-X peers, had you not died in 1990 of AIDS-related complications.

And get this: you could be healthy, happy and living well, even while living with HIV/AIDS!

That's right, Ryan, people your age are living with the virus without a death sentence attached. And many of us who were just like you are now longtime survivors!

Science did it. Science got a grip on AIDS, figured out a way for people like you and me to survive instead of wither away and die, like in the old days. Like when you were just a kid in need of blood transfusion, one that happened to be tainted with a virus you knew nothing about.

"They came up with a term: Disease-free. They use it on this thing called the Internet."

That virus is still among us, but it's no longer killing people just because they acquired it. They've even removed that old “12-18 months life expectancy” deal, you know, the best guesstimate for anyone with HIV back in the early 80s?

Why, nowadays, life expectancy for a person with HIV/AIDS grows daily, as people like myself keep on surviving. Talk about a miracle.

Wish you were here, being one of those miracles.

Wish you were here to give me some perspective on what your generation has made of the post-AIDS Panic world.

They came up with a term: Disease-free. They use it on this thing called the Internet. In fact, they've created a whole lexicon that didn't exist when you died.

Disease-free. UB2. Barebacking. DDF. UB2. No bugs. No diseases whatsoever. Clean. UB2.

Wish you were to tell me how it feels hearing those words. They've become part of culture since you fought for a right to go to school and have a normal life while living with AIDS. As a teenage boy.

Wish you were here to tell me how this modern world makes you feel. Wish you were here to tell this modern world how it makes you feel, hearing people use the term, "disease-free."

They listened to you once. You had the attention of the world, even royalty. Why you were world famous, Ryan White.

Wish I knew if the people who use the term "disease-free" would say that to Ryan White.

Wish you were here so they could listen to you once again.

Red Tape State

Here a tax, there a tax. Big government is forever a-taxing us. Utilities. Income. Sales. Property. State. Local. Everywhere a tax, tax.

Moreover, "BG" is forever telling us what we can and cannot do, where we can do it, and where we better not even think about doing it.

So many tax dollars, so much authority. And they can't even get it right each and every time. Is it really worth all the red tape? Judge for yourself the Sins of Big Government.

1,000 Days of Babies Born in America

We were the little cheeks he kissed and welcomed into the world. We were the newborn children he referenced in his words and dreams for the future of a nation. His nation.

We were born in his America.

We are now running America.

We Are the Kennedy Babies.

A Most Magical Night

In 2009, Cookie Johnson, wife of Earvin "Magic" Johnson, was among the honorees at Heroes in the Struggle, an event held by the Black AIDS Institute (and for which I was a contributing writer).

That night, I met Mr. and Mrs. Johnson and shared my HIV story. I also had a very important message for the legendary athlete: Dear Magic Johnson, Thanks for Saving My Life.

New Block on the Blocks

Coming soon to Randy Boyd's Blocks: a new cool and dreamy block!

What Is a Randy Boyd Block?

A Randy Boyd Block is a provocative creation from a black author who puts blocks of letters together to make words that say something. Like a child! Here are some of the blocks that are, now and forever, at Randy Boyd's Blocks:

For most of my life, I would have bet the house in Vegas that one of my young black peers would not grow up to become president of the United States of America in our lifetime. How glad I am that I was wrong. And even more grateful I survived long enough to investigate the Obama Files.

The world of sports has been a part of my life since birth. As a adult, my greatest sports dream is seeing athletes finally admit to being like most men, meaning: they've fucked around with other men. Only then will the world lighten up about Homos in Sports.

I like white skin. And black skin. And red skin. And brown skin. And yellow skin. And olive-skinned skin, and so on. Still, most of the world, myself included, is not colorblind. And so we're still Race Relating.

For nearly two decades, I've been a published writer. Most of my credits can be found in my bio, but the actual stories are scatted about the universe. Now my previously published stories are available in the blocks labeled Randy Reprinted.

He's my pride and joy and my constant companion. His name is Boomer, named after my hometown Indiana Pacers' mascot. If nothing else, daddy's special little buddy has taught me, When In Doubt, Pet the Dog.

There's a newfangled bike called the Trikke. I call it pure pleasure on three wheels. Trikking is like skiing on land. It puts ye ole bicycle to shame in the fun department. Trikke fever is catching on. It's given me a new identity and a whole new column on the blocks: Trikke Randy.

My sister taught me cheerleading when I was age seven. By the time I got to college, I was a cheerleading aficionado. It's no wonder I tried out five times and made it five times, at two rival schools no less. Find out what it was like, cheering for USC, then UCLA in the blocks labeled Cheer Up.

I've been HIV-positive longer than I was ever HIV-negative. In fact, I barely remember what it was like, not being my generation's greatest nightmare. Walk a mile in my shoes in HIV-P.O.V..

These are just some of the blocks I like to play with, now and forever on Randy Boyd's Blocks (.com).

My Doggone Life

Life with my first pet has taught me many things, none greater than When In Doubt, Pet the Dog.

My golden mutt Boomer just turned twelve. One of his presents: When In Doubt, Pet the Dog Week, a doggone celebration of When In Doubt, Pet the Dog, the periodic column or memoir or blog journal thingy, now and forever at Randy Boyd's Blocks.

Hip Loves Walt Loves the Bearcat

My name is Hip, and I'm your host for When In Doubt, Pet the Dog Week on Randy Boyd's Blocks. You may know me as the cute, lovable golden mutt in my favorite novel, Walt Loves the Bearcat by Randy Boyd.

Thanks to Freaky Deaky Technologies, I'm guest blogging on my author's blog. Not only are my thoughts being downloaded, they're also being translated from dog to English! How cool is that!

My author's dog Boomer is the dog who inspired my character in Walt Loves the Bearcat, but my performance as Hip is all me ... Hip! In fact, I'm the one who suggested putting an exclamation point after my name in the fantasy sequences.

And I'm not ashamed to admit: it was also, me, Hip, that improvised many of the lines in the scene where the Bearcat surprises the injured athlete Walt with ... me, Hip! You see, the scene started out ... we have a clip? Oh, okay, we have a clip. Ruff it. I mean, rover it. I mean, roll it. Roll book excerpt!

Walter Yeager needed a reversal of spirit and a healthy distraction while his body healed. Bear did his part, dancing up a storm daily in the den, but as the weeks went by and the season was looking more and more like a wash, the time came for reinforcements in the form of a new addition to the Bearcat family: a happy slobbering tongue!

“Not now, Bear,” mumbled a slumbering Walter one morning in bed. When the licking persisted, he swiped away the source, resulting in a series of shrieking yelps. Walter awoke in a panic, then said in a high-pitched voice: “Hi, puppy! I’m so sorry!”

Bear has holding over the bed a golden aura of puppy heaven, a six-month-old mutt mixed with Labrador retriever, golden retriever and anything else beautiful the angels poured into his one-of-a-kind mold. He swam through the air for Walter; Walter reached out and took the puppy.

“He’s a big boy!” said Walter, calling up the animated voice he only used for dogs and small children. “Aren’t you a big boy? Aren’t you a handsome fella?”

Walter was like a boy on Christmas morning getting everything he ever dreamed of. He and the puppy explored one another, bouncing around the bed as if their bodies couldn’t contain their eagerness.

“Is he ours? Can we keep him, Bear, can we please? We can—oh, look, little one, Bear’s got that silly ole Joe Bruin grin on his face. You’re our dog now. Wanna be our dog? Yes, you do, big baby boy ...”

The corona of Corona, Seattle was more radiant than ever. Walter played with his new playmate, and Bear played the responsible one--but not too responsible. After all, Bears need their joy, too.

So what if the pup pissed on the carpet during his strict house-training regimen. So what if Bear had to clean up puppy vomit in the middle of the night. So what if the nightly howling in those first few weeks kept the boys bleary-eyed throughout the day.

So what if Bear had to do the brunt of the work since Walter was on IR. Every single chore was a chore of love and the result of dreams coming true.

“What should we name him?” asked Bear that first week.

“I got this one,” said Walter. “Hip, because he is, and because he’s helping to heal mine. And Shoulder or Concussion wouldn’t sound cool at the dog park."

—from Walt Loves the Bearcat

And scene ... I want my Oscar bone! How about an Oscar bone for Best Canine Performance? Please? I'm begging you.

This is Hip, sitting like a good boy, anticipating a treat, and thanking you for stopping by Pet the Dog Week, a very special celebration of the periodic column, When In Doubt, Pet the Dog, and urging you to check me out in Walt Loves the Bearcat, a Lambda Literary Award Finalist for Best Romance.

I want my Lammy bone! How about a Lammy bone? How about an Emmy bone for best host?

Making Forever Last Forever

You fall in love, but how do you make it last? You have a child, but how do remain bonded to that child for life? You've found your BBF, but how do you keep it together without tearing one another apart?

How do you keep the music playing, the connection connected, the love loving?

Dream of it, then read Staying Connected to Your Pet (or Loved One), part of When In Doubt, Pet the Dog, a memoir or blog journal thingy, now and forever at Randy Boyd's Blocks.

A "Pet the Dog" Primer

For years the dream having a dog eluded me. Then I saw a six-month-old golden mutt at the shelter. I put a hold on him right away.

Boomer just turned twelve and this is week on the Blocks is dedicated to When In Doubt, Pet the Dog, a periodic column or journal thingy about our life together. Here's a sampler:

Author's Best Friend
Remembering Scioscia
Dog Over Troubled Waters
Night, Daddy, Night, Dear
Daddy Loves You

Getting Hip to Petting the Dog

Hip here, your host for When In Doubt, Pet the Dog Week @ Randy Boyd's Blocks.

Most of you know me for my four-paws-up performance as Hip in Walt Loves the Bearcat by Randy Boyd, a Lambda Literary Award Finalist for Best Romance.

How did my creator learn when to pet the dog? Find out in the heartwarming and bittersweet story called Why Pet the Dog When In Doubt?

It's all part of When In Doubt, Pet the Dog Week at Randy Boyd's Blocks.

No Dog Years Here!

"I don't believe in dog years. Is there such a thing as ant years? Buffalo years? Firefly years? ... Boomer is definitely not seven times twelve. Boomer's the only unconditional love I've ever known."

—from Dog Years, part of When In Doubt, Pet the Dog, a memoir or blog journal thingy, now and forever at Randy Boyd's Blocks.

That's My Boy!

What kind of athlete is my dog most like? Find out how Boomer's Got Skills.

Then there's his smelling powers, especially when another dog comes sniffing around. That's when Boomer Nose Best.

Then there's all the things Boomer teaches me, like "When In Doubt, Feed the Dog" Is Good, Too.

Gotta love the dog. It's When In Doubt, Pet the Dog Week, a special celebration of When In Doubt, Pet the Dog, the periodic column or memoir or blog journal thingy, now and forever at Randy Boyd's Blocks.

One Tasty Treat!

That's right, Boomer, it's a whole week on daddy's blog dedicated to you! It's When In Doubt, Pet the Dog Week, a special celebration of When In Doubt, Pet the Dog, the periodic column or memoir or blog journal thingy, now and forever at Randy Boyd's Blocks.

Calling All Dogs

Boomer was born in the cell phone age. Not that he uses one, mind you. Not after running up the bill with all that texting! Still, he's all about my cell phone and the message it sends him.

See how Daddy's Special Buddy is a Dog with an Ear for Cell Phone Signals in this heartwarming installment of When In Doubt, Pet the Dog, a periodic column or memoir or blog thingy, now and forever at Randy Boyd's Blocks.

The Bitch with Cancer in Her Throat

Hip here, your host for When In Doubt, Pet the Dog Week @ Randy Boyd's Blocks.

Most of you know me for my four-paws-up performance as Hip in Walt Loves the Bearcat by Randy Boyd, a Lambda Literary Award Finalist for Best Romance.

But did you know that I, Hip, almost didn't make it into Randy's book? More-rover, I almost didn't make it into Randy's life, period! That's because Randy almost adopted another dog a couple of years before he adopted Boomer, the real-life dog that inspired me, Hip, in his fourth novel. It was a bitch, let me tell you!

Who Is America's Next Top Dog Model?

Two beautiful dogs stand before me, but I only have one envelope, and this envelope represents the dog who is America's Next Top Dog Model.

The dog who is not chosen must pack up his bones and go home. So who is America's Next Top Dog Model?

America's Next Top Dog Model is ... a click away on When In Doubt, Pet the Dog Week at Randy Boyd's Blocks.