People outside of Kansas don’t get it.

They have their preconceived notions of this state, whether it’s how flat our terrain may be, monochromatic vistas, or our politics. The truth is, though, the people of the 105 counties of this state are as diverse as any other state in the union.

Sure, we squabble, and sometimes it dips into outright hostility. But just like siblings in the largest dysfunctional family, we pull together in a time of need.

You just have to look at the recent license plate dust-up in our state to see how we can pull together when the occasion calls for it.

There was a bipartisan outcry among my friends of both sides of the political spectrum when the first license plate redesign was announced in late November. It gave everyone, as the kids say, the “ick.”

I get the design choices behind the proposed plate; I do. The gold representing the fields of wheat, and the dark navy band representing the night sky, with our state logo across the bottom,  and “to the stars” harkening to our state’s tourism campaign. It made sense at a design level.

But it felt too modern to be “Kansas.”

And boy, we sure made our voices heard. Both sides of the aisle, and all four corners of this state, raised a ruckus. It’s one of the few times in recent memory that I can recall so much agreement on one topic across all kinds of Kansans. We did not like that design.

It was enough of a ruckus that the governor’s office paused the process and allowed the public to vote on a final design. And while this final design is not exactly everyone’s choice, it’ll do for a while until we change the state license plate again in another decade or so.

Look, we Kansans don’t agree on a lot of things. We argue over politics and water, universities and sports teams. We will go toe-to-toe with a neighbor over a fence line and a wayward bull. We’ll march with signs and grumble in church pews. We bicker more than we agree.

It’s been that way our whole statehood and before, really.

But I’ve also seen us pull together in amazing circumstances. And not just over license plates.

I’ve seen hostile neighbors put it all aside after a tornado has wiped a town off the map. Funny thing, no one cares about property lines when you’re holding them while their world has crumbled and helping them dig through rubble to find anything to save.

I’ve watched countless communities pull together to finish a farmer’s harvest, to fund cancer treatment for a child, and search for a lost boy. Not once did anyone check voting cards before the help was gladly accepted by worried and weary neighbors.

Because at the end of the day, despite our differences, we are Kansans. We come together in times of need.

Oh, the arguments will start again in time, sure. That’s how it is with family.

But for one, too-brief moment in 2023, we were united as Kansans.