Driving to my parents’ house in Escondido, Calif. (north of San Diego) on Thanksgiving took me right past my old high school, San Pasqual. Mine was the first four year graduating class, in 1976. Back then, there wasn’t much to Escondido. And there wasn’t much to my social life. Because I wasn’t a member of any of the socially acceptable groups (athletes, chess players, very cute, very smart, etc.) I kept to myself and spent time with my two friends: a straight young woman and a pretty much obviously not straight young man.