My Old Kentucky Home
I grew up in Lexington, Kentucky — the thoroughbred horse capital of the world. Getting back home happens less and less often. There’s much to love about my old hometown, and I find myself missing it more and more all the time.
If I had to pick one thing I miss the most about Lexington — other than friends and family — it would be the bluegrass. Bluegrass is the best of all the turf grasses. Nothing compares with a barefoot walk through tall, cool bluegrass. I love the dark green color and the way it shimmers in the breeze.
The last time I was home, I didn’t get a chance check out the gay scene. Things have changed since I left. Last I heard, a new upscale bar had replaced The Bar (once known as Johnny Angel’s) as the center of Lexington’s gay universe. That I didn’t check the place out speaks volumes about how much I’ve changed.
The majority of my surviving aunts, uncles, and cousins live in Lexington. We still exchange greeting cards for the holidays and the occasional e-mail message, but I don’t get to see them much. Some I haven’t seen for years.
What I miss most of all, of course, are my Kentucky friends. Those relationships go back a long way — more than half a century in some cases. (OUCH!) Facebook keeps us loosely connected, but is a poor substitute for face-to-face get togethers.
Sometime in the next five years, I’ll retire from the University of Georgia. I love Athens — especially the mild winters. I bought my current house with the intention of dying in it. But more and more, my old Kentucky home calls to me. The more I think about it, the more certain I become. After I retire, I want to go back home. Anybody got a spare bedroom to rent?