Learning lessons about life isn't like learning at school. When you move from Massachusetts to California, you are learning at a furious rate. In the beginning, I thought my mind could burst. Everything was new and I was alone.

Previously, I simply knew what I knew. No one really taught me. I knew how things were because it's how it had always been as far back as my memory took me. Now, when I stepped outside, nothing was the way it was at home, and I understood nothing about my new home.

California is big. The word is big. The state is big. I wondered if I could ever know California the way I knew Massachusetts. I had two things in mind as we drove across the country, the Beach Boys in particular and boys in general. The Beach Boys taught me most of what I knew about this land of milk and honey. I imagined California boys would be nice. It never rained in Southern California and the sun was always shining.

We don't sit down with a text book to learn how we think or why we think the thoughts we do. I couldn't open to the chapter, How to Love. Free taught me what love was. Until I fell in love with Free, I mistook feelings for the first boy I got with for love. My mistake did become obvious.

My mistake came from inexperience. Having the most intense feelings in my life, it wasn't hard to think it was love. I dreamed about being with boys the way I was with Gordo, and I suppose, when I met Gordo, any boy would do. I knew where I lived back home. I wasn't going in the bushes with a boy for love nor money.

Gordo showed me the bushes, his erection, and he pulled my face close enough to get a close up. Not knowing what I was doing, it was mind over matter when I opened wide. Gordo wasted no time, pulling his spandex up in a minute. Gordo wasn't big, but he had a muscular body, a deep tan, and he was horny.

It felt like love. Being new at it, Gordo wasn't the last boy I'd swallow.

I needed to let my feelings flow, once I met a boy who would. My nights were filled with dreams of boys I wanted to get with. My daydreams were full of boys I saw and thought I could like, but back home, everyone knew me, and I kept my secret faithfully. In California I didn't have anything to lose. I had one year of school left, and by the time I was known, the school year would be over.

Free taught me what love is. The feelings that came before were child's play. What I felt for Free was the real deal. Its power left no doubt in my mind. I needed to have Gordo to be able to recognize the difference in my feelings.

Being left by Free taught me about having love and losing it. All lessons aren't pleasant. I survived. I could have allowed it to ruin the fun I was having, but I didn't do that. I licked my wounds. I met Skip. I learned to surf, while being close to a beautiful boy who wasn't in love with me, but he liked me in a nice way.

There was life after love, and that was a lesson I had a good time learning.

When I left Massachusetts, I told my friends, "I'll come back to see you. I'm a Massachusetts boy after all."

They believed me. I believed me. Of course I'd return one day. They were the boys I grew up with. They were the boys I knew best.

I was going on twenty and I could hardly remember those boys. I was a California boy. I surfed and I loved other boys. At home, letting the boys I knew know my secret, would have gone poorly and I would no longer have had friends if I was alive at all. Massachusetts was hard and unrelenting in its culture.

I've become a California boy, I never wanted to go back there. I knew little about the boys back home. I was a skater. They were skaters. We were friends. There was an artificial distance between us, because boys weren't allowed to know each other too well. It's the same reason I kept my secret. I suspect, boys not touching each other, except while doing battle, is for safety's sake.

Was the fear of homosexuality so powerful, a touch might turn you queer? Why is the site of a human body so feared? Everybody has a body. Who came up with the idea the human body was shameful? Why would a God give us something we carried with us, and we were so ashamed, we hide it?

Back home, you always wear clothes so you don't freeze. Massachusetts is older. It goes back to the first white people. They were purely Puritanical. No one was allowed to touch anyone, if you knew what was good for you. Harsh religions were the custom of the day, because God was watching. He knew when you were sleeping. He knew when you were awake. He didn't need to know if you were bad or good, because there was no good, and that was truly believed by Puritans.

There was temptation and evil. It had to be nipped in the bud. There were people who thought they were nippers. They watched everyone. If you didn't follow the party line, and give them proper respect, you were likely to find yourself at the end of your rope, or some other corrective measure that would solve all your problems, because you were dead if you disobeyed the big dude.

Thomas Hobbs, philosopher, lamented, "Life is nasty, short, and brutish."

It was up to clergy to see that he was correct and they were just the people who made his words come true.

What clergy had in mind, stopping any thoughts that life could be fun and enjoyable if you found the right people who didn't regard the living of life sinful.

The only evil was in the minds of those who thought they had the right to kill you if you didn't obey what they said. Throughout history, the most evil men seem to end up in charge.

Today, if a clergyman pulled such shenanigans, he'd be in an institution.

I knew history. I knew it was people directing other people to hate that ended up with people who didn't dare step out of line. Penalties will be harsh.

California is new in comparison to Massachusetts. It's new in the minds of men who found it sitting in the middle of nowhere. They ignored the people who had lived here for a millennium or two. Immediately, they saw those people as the enemy, because they were on the land other men intended to have.

There was more free space in California. People weren't as easy to confine. The 'Do as I say or die' doctrine was ignored by people who weren't interested. California was big enough that no one man would force his will on the people. It didn't mean they couldn't take what they came after. This was how it was done when men took what they wanted when it was owned by people they refused to see as people who had a right to hold the land they lived on.

When you think God gives you the power to say other people aren't really people, well, you get to take what you want. How men who say they are religious square this with their God, and 'Thou shalt not steal, or kill,' is a mystery, but white men mostly did whatever they wanted to do. Since they took war machines everywhere they discovered, resistance was futile.

I've got to figure that they weren't able to round up enough people in California to force everyone into submission, and they took what they wanted, leaving alone the free thinking people who moved out of reach.

It was the free thinking people who probably became the skaters and surfers. These were the people who had the ingenuity that allowed them to invent things that sooner or later went east. That's why so many culture changes started in California, spreading across the country. People weren't as up tight out here.

That's why skating and surfing started out here. Free thinkers aren't constrained as much by the devil. It wasn't the devil who came for California, and decided it belonged to the first white men who arrived. By working around the men who claim they own everything, life can develop and thrive. The best ideas slowly work their way east.

Because it was water under the bridge, no one gave a thought to who took what from whom. It was more peaceful without the pesky half-naked savages. If skaters were around back then, we'd have been the half-naked savages. People who claim to be in charge don't want trouble makers skating all over the place.

I'm almost certain, Washington, Jefferson, and Madison would have skated. They were from the east, but they marched to a different kind of drummer. They dressed funny, and I never got the wig deal, but they were righteous dudes you could follow without feeling like you had to keep washing your hands.

They could have explained the difference between the Pilgrims and how they got where they were a hundred and fifty years later. Whatever the difference, they created a country for, 'We the people.' They wanted to be followed, but if you failed to follow them, they didn't want to kill you.

What an inspired way to run things. Let people decide their own fate. Why didn't someone think this up before? A government of the people, by the people, and for the people. Of course, the Puritan's were horrified.

It all began in Massachusetts. I saw the historic sites. I walked where the Pilgrims walked. I knew about the witches and where the Puritans put them to death. It took a lot of nerve to be a witch. Not so much to kill one. The word grim inside the word Pilgrim isn't there by accident.

If I was a skater back then, I'm sure I wouldn't do any better than witches. The idea I could even think about loving a boy would have driven them mad. While they were busy pushing the people who lived here off their land, they had plenty of time to go looking for witches and other undesirables. It would go bad for anyone who didn't stay in line.

Even not being alive when Europeans first arrived, I lived where it happened. I kept my distance from my buds, because if I did get too close to one, I might let the cat out of the bag. That wouldn't end well. There were places that would react poorly if someone was discovered as homosexual. Friends of such a boy were likely to react the worst, regarding that boy as a traitor.

I dare not get too close to any boy. I wasn't taking any chances. I grew up protecting a secret. There were pressures to keep me silent. I lived in enemy territory. It was changing, but the Puritans were still ever present. If you took a step too far, the punishment would be harsh.

I looked like my buds. We dressed and talked a like. If someone said, "Z is queer." My buds wouldn't have believed it. For one thing, no one ever saw me do anything they thought was queer. Few boys were willing to deliver the kiss of death to another boy. It was complicated and subject to change.

I changed my location and my new location set me free to find love.

My buds might fight a guy who said such a thing about me. It was a matter of survival. If I was queer, and I looked and acted like my buds, if I was queer, anyone could be queer. How does a boy know when another boy is queer?

There's only one way to know for sure, and no one knew I was queer. I finished my junior year in high school before we moved away from the only home I knew. It had become harder to keep the secret. Boys were beginning to look better and better to me. I wanted to do something queer, but it was too risky.

No one said I was queer. I made sure they had nothing to go on. My eyes might give me away, but I didn't look at anything my buds didn't look at. Because my feelings were different, I got more out of the boys I looked at in the showers and in the locker room. We were growing and maturing, giving me more to see.

Temptation had my desire building. Even the boys I ran with seemed to be aware of the danger of touching. Most of us had been friends since forever, but it was best to be careful not to go too far. I was least likely to touch one of my buds in a way that might get him thinking more seriously about me. I didn't want to be watched too closely, because subtle looks and touches could be misunderstood.

My friends didn't know what went on inside my head. I got out of town just in the nick of time. I might not have made it another year. I was growing, maturing, and my feelings became more intense after I turned seventeen.

For the same reason I kept secret my feelings for boys, I wasn't that keen talking about my heartache. I didn't understand it, but it was part of me. Finding a way to keep moving forward meant that one day I'd get over Free.

Why is being queer so bad? Love isn't bad. If boys were free to love one another, there would be less war and destruction. I'd seen a thousand people killed by the time I was a teenager. I'd seen them poisoned, blown up, shot, knifed, and beaten to death.

I'd never seen two men kiss.

At a super bowl game Janet Jackson's breast inadvertently appeared. Whatever station the game was on was fined a massive amount of money.

Why would the sight of a breast send grown men into hysteria?

There is constant discussion about not saying cuss words on a broadcast. The fines can be stiff and you could lose your broadcast license under some circumstances.

You can blow up, shoot up, knife, beat to death all the people you feel it necessary to commit mayhem on. Not a word from those same hysterical men.

What does that say about people who fancy themselves as being in charge? Maybe they like death and destruction way more than a woman's anatomy.

The queer deal, the feelings involved, is a lot like Janet's breast. You shouldn't feel what it is you feel, and if you feel it, you'll be severely punished. Why do people who feel such feelings keep it to themselves? Isn't that dishonest?

Adultery, theft, even murder hardly raises an eyebrow these days. Why was loving a boy so bad? Homosexuals aren't able to benefit from new attitudes if you live in the bible belt. The pressure is on. The worst thing you can be is queer. While you are in school or in other ways confined in that bible belt, you best conform if you are among people who would hurt queers. Coming out in a dangerous place can be a bad idea. Not everyone can hide their nature, and they're going to be made to suffer, even if they are only suspected.

I can't say the same thing is true of girls. I liked girls. The closest to me in many classes were girls. Girls are smarter. Girls understand sexuality isn't static, and boys like girls doing girls. Since I'm not a girl, I can't comment intelligently on what lesbian go through or how they feel. They were more likely to investigate what they were feeling. Boys didn't want to feel anything. It was easier if you denied you felt anything. If you did feel, it went better if you didn't admit it.

I had my feelings, I had my friends. I kept my secret, because I did know what was good for me. I also knew what could get me hurt.

I had no attraction to girls. I didn't pretend I did. I would hide my nature, but I wouldn't deceive a girl into thinking I could be her romantic interest. A woman wants a man devoted to her and her alone. A man who would rather be with another man isn't going to give his wife the devotion she deserves.

It's complicated.

I have no doubt there are men who feel an attraction for both men and women. Maybe different feelings come at different times in a man's life. Maybe they feel an equal attraction for men and for women all the time. Men are encouraged to only express feelings around women, and they are discouraged from acknowledging any feelings for men. It's dangerous to get too close to men.

If you have a best friend from childhood, you might get away with staying friends. There is always someone with suspicion about the closeness.

"What do you know about those two? They're a bit too close for comfort."

"Oh, they've always been best friends. They go way back."

Boys who are too chummy will get talked about. We'll have none of that.

My childhood friends are back east. Things aren't as complicated here. There's less pressure to conform. If I was talked about, I never heard about it.

It's not as complicated here. I look at a boy I find attractive. I looked at Free and felt feelings I didn't recognize. Dealing with losing Free does have me considering, and reconsidering, what I feel and what I want to do about it.

I don't talk a lot about my feelings, because the situation is cut and dried. Free is gone and we aren't likely to get back together. I think about him and my life, because it's how I deal with my loss, but I feel lucky I had Free. Loving him told me more about my feelings than anything else did.

The luck comes from not feeling intense loneliness without the man I love. Skip drove into my life and I don't have time to dwell on Free. Keeping my mind occupied with work, surfing, and giving what for to Skip is a full time job, and I'm not alone or lonely, except for really late some nights.

Thinking and feeling what I feel has me feeling good about myself. I'm a lucky lad. The things on my mind while driving across country to California, have come to pass. I am a surfer. I have loved a boy, and I have my life ahead of me.

My feelings are complicated. I don't always understand what they mean. Because I'm queer, there are few images complimentary to my condition. I am fine. People who think I'm not fine, have the problem. Asking myself how much I care about people who need to hate me, that's on them. My life is complicated enough without worrying about what goes on inside of other people's minds.

My feelings about boys are complicated. Girls feelings for other girls has to be complicated. Girls can like each other more intimately than boys can like other boys. Woman can become great friends with any number of women throughout their lifetime. Boys don't have that freedom in many places.

I knew where I was, while I was back east. I remained silent, because I believed in playing it safe. The human condition is far more complicated than anyone lets on. It became obvious to me that there were many ways to be. How could it be otherwise? If I had some choice in the matter, I doubt I'd choose to be he most hated group in America. I had a lot of company. Queers might be the most hated, but there was no shortage of hatred, and if you crossed paths with the wrong bigot, you could find yourself in serious trouble.

Considering ice cream, which I do often, I love chocolate. I especially like Rocky Road. For a long time I wouldn't eat anything else. Vanilla was, too vanilla, but today, if I eat pie or cake, I want vanilla ice cream. It allows me to get all the flavors without the ice cream taking over. Rocky Road definitely takes over.

My taste has changed.

That might seem simplistic, but tastes change. Attraction changes. I'm in love and I couldn't live without Free. That's where most people are when they fall in love. I won't say love has gone, but Free has gone. I had to deal with it. The situation changed. I adapted to my new reality. I could have refused to face facts.

How smart would that be? I made up my mind, I won't be miserable.

Before coming to California, I didn't see history in the same way. I know where I stand now. I've come out and I'm honest about liking boys. No one seems to hold it against me. It's a big change from back home.

I haven't started working my way back in with the skaters I knew before I wanted to be with Free all the time. I knew quite a few skaters in El Cajon. I intended to get back into circulation. There were skaters I liked, and I didn't know if one might turn out to be the one. If I didn't make an effort to socialize, I wasn't going to meet boys I like and could possibly love.

Life was good for me. No, living without love wasn't as good as living with love. Life wasn't as appealing once love was gone. It took some time for me to want to dive back into a search for like minded boys, but it was time for me to let go of the past and make an effort to have a future.

The idea I'd sit down across from another boy in the food court, and end up in love, was ancient history, I'd done that. I didn't know where or how you found love, but lightning striking twice in the same food court wasn't likely. That didn't mean I wouldn't meet a boy in the food court. I might meet a nice boy anywhere I went. Maybe he wouldn't be a skater. Most likely he would be. I was a skater.

I was healing from losing love. No, we hadn't said goodbye in a way that was a final goodbye, but I wasn't stupid. The navy wasn't just a place to go. The navy offered Free the one thing he longed to have. The odds were against us. I wasn't giving up hope, but I was dealing with Free being gone from my life.

I didn't think about Free as much. I loved being with Skip. I loved surfing. Skip wasn't available for me to love. He was available as a friend, and he let me give him what for just inside my front door, after he pushed his shorts to the floor.

It seemed appropriate to satisfy Skip. After all, he took me surfing. It was the least I could do for him. It made me feel close to Skip.

His love for Chet didn't stop him from visiting my bed after we'd been seeing each other for a few weeks. We went in the front door of my house, up the stairs, and we ended up in my bed to satisfy each other's urges.

Explaining Skip to my parents wasn't as difficult as I imagined it might be once he'd stayed longer than was wise while we gave each other what for. First my mother came home, and then my father, and there was enough food for Skip. He had to stay for dinner, or we'd give away the game. I think my parents knew what we were up to after we came downstairs.

How bad could things be when I had a guy who looked like Skip in my bed. Skip had taught me to surf and he'd been my sex life for most of a year. As good as he was, as handsome as he was, Skip's heart belonged to someone else, and I couldn't depend on him for my entire social life.

Skip was going to find Chet. If I wasn't careful, I'd end up out in the cold.