If I could offer advice to anyone willing to listen, it would be to never forget where you came from.

My story originates in Westport, Massachusetts, a small yet mighty right-to-farm community. Life growing up was simple and time passed slowly. My hands were never ied to an entertainment controller. Instead, sticks shaped like guns and swords were the ideal toys. A pile of rotted wood and a bucket of rusted nails was a goldmine as the possibilities to build something -- anything -- were endless.

Running through a row of unharvested corn in a field that stretched for miles was the definition of freedom. Cooling off in the summer meant taking a dip in Watuppa or Sawdy ponds. As kids, we rode our bikes here, there and everywhere. The winding roads were our domain.

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Life was content in Westport, as it should be.

It's where my roots run deep, leading up the driveway to a gorgeous log cabin my father built and every school in town ranging from Macomber to Westport High.

Sure, I still have friends that date back to kindergarten, but life goes on and it's not until later that you find yourself reconnecting with some former classmates and old pals. The Westport Social Club is the grandest watering hole for reunions over cheap drinks.

When I was a teen, Westport was a town of champions. Our varsity sports teams brought home championships and I was crowned Mr. Westport. I still have the crown and sash.

My parents raised me well and taught me to love where I came from. Whether you're kayaking the calm Westport River or strolling through the woods of Allen's Pond Wildlife Sanctuary, there's beauty everywhere you look. It's where backyard cookouts hit differently and the sweet smell of manure brings you right back home.

Courtesy Val Marks/ New Bedford Tattoo Company
Courtesy Val Marks/ New Bedford Tattoo Company

All of this makes up the reason I just got a tattoo from my good friends over at New Bedford Tattoo Company as a tribute. The zip code 02790 now rests loud and proud upon my heart.

May it be a reminder to never forget who I am. Stay humble, stay kind and hold dearly to your roots.

To the town of Westport and everyone there I've met along the way, this one's for you.

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Westport and SouthCoast people, it's time to play the game where you start with 10 fingers, then continue to put them down one by one for each item you have done as you read through these 25 "Never Have I Evers." There's no way you'll make it through them all without running out of fingers. Hands up!

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