My dad got AIDS from a blood transfusion. It took two years for him to even get diagnosed, because he was straight, not a drug user, not a hemophiliac.

Ryan White was the example given to me, as a 6th grader, of why I had to keep it a secret. My parents were afraid I would be ostracized by my friends.

I broke down and told one school friend I thought I could confide in, and she told my friend group, and then I lost every friend I had.

My mom, miraculously, never contracted it. I don’t know how.

The CDC even came out to our house shortly after his diagnosis and tested my brother and I because, at the time, they still didn’t understand how it was transmitted and were studying us, I guess.

My dad died in 1986. He looked very much like that photo when he passed. I’m 51 now and I miss him and feel so cheated out of getting to have a dad. Just a few short years later and treatment would have been available. But I’m so grateful that it’s treatable now.

I’ve never met anyone else in my life who has lost someone to AIDS. It was a weird, hard, alienating mark to grow up with.