Twenty feet past the state line hung the all too familiar red, white, and blue flag against the flat, brown land: welcome to Texas. In all of our travels, the lone star state is the most ironic entity in this here United States of America. Texans are known for their pride in our country and is the symbol of patriotism, yet they have “Yes, we can secede!” and “Native Texan” (like they are a race of their own) signs, license plates, and bumper stickers. Texans uphold and revere the sanctity of marriage above all, and also boaster billboards that read: “Need a divorce? Call 1-800-426-FREEDOM”. Of course a majority of the oil fields are powered by wind energy. And only in Texas is a large sandwich from the state famous Schlotzsky’s barely able to fit in a take-away Styrofoam box while a small is still larger than a normal American sandwich. Whenever I try to describe a Texan to my mother, I make the mistake of listing adjectives, like one would do to describe anything. I list one after another after another, but can never get the full sense of the person. After about ten adjectives I stop and say, “he’s a Texan” and that seems to solve the problem. But after it all, America loses its excitement and image without Texas and Texans in itself and in the world stage.
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