I screwed up my life when I screwed the assistant track coach. But life got better when I went back to my hometown roots, bought the town bar, and invited all my gay city friends to a big old country party. My hometown of Dunforth will never be the same.
I suppose I should have listened to my dad and kept my powder dry. But I didn’t, and life handed my ass to me and send me packing back home to Dunforth, the small central Montana town I grew up in. There were plenty of times when I felt lost back on the family ranch, a couple of times where I felt found, and several times when I didn’t know what the hell was going on.
Not sure I could have ever taken all of the country kid out of me, and I most certainly couldn’t have put my gay fab city years on hold once I got some of that under my belt. I’m not sure who or what my little rural hometown thought I would be, but I bet they didn’t plan on the man who came back home to stay. And they certainly didn’t plan on me inviting all my gay friends to come to town for a big old gay party.
I’ll never be the same. Pretty sure the town of Dunforth will never be the same. Hell, I am sure I’ve changed the trajectory of the whole damn county. How is that for the prodigal son returning home?