In 1960, Woody took me on a shopping excursion for my 13th birthday. He was working at a minimum wage job, but with his own income, he felt rich and he couldn't wait to share his "riches" with his little sister. We took the bus to downtown Dayton and had lunch (both rare treats). Then we went to the teen section of the biggest department store in town and spent the next couple of hours acting like we had money.

I tried on every skirt and sweater in the store, while Woody kept me laughing as he mimicked the glares we were getting from the sales clerks. When Woody bought me what were my first store-bought clothes, a blue plaid, box-pleated wool shirt and matching pale blue wool sweater, I felt rich, too.

This day with my big brother and the rare store-bought clothes were incredible gifts for a young girl, but the material things Woody gave me over the years pale in comparison to what he taught me about life, unconditional love, compassion, acceptance and tolerance.

Woody was gay. He knew a lot about the fragility of these things. Coming to grips with his sexual orientation in the intolerant climate of the 1950s and 1960s was particularly challenging for Woody. After years of trying desperately to be "normal," he joined the Army and married twice. Then he finally came out. When he revealed his homosexuality to his family and friends, the always gregarious Woody came face-to-face with unrelenting hostility.

We remained close throughout his life. Watching him deal with the discrimination accorded to those who are "different" taught me a lot about love and acceptance. He taught me the importance of championing therights of all people and of loving individuals for who they are, regardless of their gender, race, ethnicity, religious beliefs or sexual orientation. Without Woody, these are lessons I doubt I would ever have learned or fully appreciated.

It took time before I recognized it, but even his death was another gift to me. He taught me compassion. For the last years of his life, he volunteered at local Fort Lauderdale AIDS organizations to promote awareness. He took friends and strangers into his own home, caring for them as they slowly wasted away with AIDS.

Woody lost his own battle with AIDS in 1995. He would have been 59 on Dec 11.

Five years later, I still miss my brother. The only thing that makes losing him bearable is remembering what Woody gave me: lessons of tolerance, acceptance, compassion, and unconditional love. Thanks, Woody.