Montana
41st State
November 8th, 1889
Personally, the state of Montana was one of America's favorites. It was not called The Big Sky Country for nothing. There was not much more than America loved than just lying on the grass next to his 41st child, watching the clouds roll by on a warm, sunny day. Though America would never tell anyone next to Montana, but he was quite the claustrophobe. Her state made him feel safe, somehow, with all the space. Space to be free.
Free to do stupid things.
Montana watched with a smile as her father did cartwheels across the grass, laughing like, quite frankly, he was drunk. America was laughing so hard, in fact, he tripped up and landed uncomfortably on his rear end.
"Are you okay?" Montana asked with a hint of panic, yet not enough panic to bring her to her feet and make sure the nation was unhurt.
With a cry of, "The hero is always okay!" America leaped his feet and proceeded to plop on the ground next to his daughter. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed.
"Daddy!" she protested, her face squished into her father's shoulder.
America let go. Montana was tougher than other states, however. He could be less careful with her. He did not worry. "So," he said, "awesome day for a game of Toilet Tag."
Montana smiled, blue eyes sparkling. America smiled back, and next thing he knew she had punched him square on the nose. "You're it!" she exclaimed.
Let the game of Toilet Tag begin.