Three Snow Whites stepped out of the Starbucks in Bay City,Texas. It’s just a tiny town. It would have been surprising enough that they even had a Starbucks. And it sounds like the beginning of a joke, but they weren’t laughing. Their shiny black hair blew in the southern breeze, along with their silky yellow and blue dresses. Just shy of bluebirds on their shoulders, they looked perfectly Disney. They sipped on their coffees. Reached for their keys, and went to their cars, as if this happened every Saturday. And maybe it does, but we won’t be here to tell. 

I could have raced after them with my cell phone. Begged for a photo. But coming from a small town, I know the code. 

In Alexandria, Minnesota we have a statue of a large Viking. On his shield, it claims this is the Birthplace of America. In the summer, when our population doubled — all those coming from the Twin Cities to cool down in one of our many lakes — we could see them laugh. Poking fun at our big statue. Jumping on his feet. Taking ironic photos before heading off to the golf course. 

I would like to say that I defended him, us. But in my cut-off shorts and off brand tennis shoes, I didn’t yet have the words. I hope I apologized on my daily ride past him, perched on my banana seat bike, but I’m not sure that I did. 

Maybe it WAS the birthplace of America, maybe it wasn’t…I’m still not sure, but it was our birthplace, of our America. All of my beginnings began at his feet. It was the end of Van Dyke Road, and the start of Main. And even though at times it felt like I was the only one living this life, somehow it was not just my destiny. No, this we shared. Maybe all small towns do. We didn’t talk about it. We didn’t have to. This was our town. Our Viking. I had to leave to find the words, but even from a country away, I will claim it. Defend it. My hometown.

So no, I didn’t find out about the three Snow Whites. That’s their story to tell. I sit back on my imaginary banana seat bike, and enjoy the view as they step outside their destiny.