A federal town nestled between two Southern states but part of neither. Taxed but not represented. Loved and loathed by the voting public based on her residents. Her location chosen by one of our finest men, a man with a family crest. Who was first in a long line of great men. Men with ideas and men with families and men with stories. Men who've shared the same 68 square miles for the past two hundred and some odd years. For some of those men, its where they live just four years. But for us all, it's home. Where our story begins. Just 'cause The District isn't a state doesn't mean we shouldn't let her pull up a chair at the table come Thanksgiving. She's one of us. Just far enough north to get snow, but far enough South to warrant seersucker. We may be Southern, but more than that, we're American. And there's room at the table for us all.