As a little kid, I always wanted to go to California. It seemed like a land full of warmth and fun and greatness. Over the summer, I got lost there. My family and I were driving from the Grand Canyon to Las Vegas, so we could fly back home to New York. But we were on the wrong road, and all of a sudden, we saw a sign that said, "Welcome to California!" After a lot of groaning and complaining from my father, who now had to drive an extra 90 miles, we kept going. I was so excited, looking out the window waiting for California, MY California, to show up. The one with famous people, glitzy restaurants full of happy, laughing customers, calm yet hectic beaches, palm trees. But I never saw it. No, it was desolate and dry, with lots of trucks and trains. But I still kept waiting, despite the fact that I knew it would never come. Because there were people, but they were all in cars going too fast to see if they were famous and laughing. And there was a lot of mountains and rocks and sand, but they weren't beaches. And there were palm trees, but they were sad and short and surrounded by weeds. So when I saw the sign that said, "Welcome to Nevada", I was disappointed. That had not been the California of my childhood dreams. But not even twenty yards away from the border, at a roadside market where we stopped to buy water and ice cream, there was a little cluster of palm trees, strong and tall, and soaking in the sunlight. And that was almost enough for me, those not-quite-California palm trees. Almost.
(Side note: I published this earlier, but Blogger wouldn't let me save any edits I made to it, so I just copied it into a new post)
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