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What Price Freedom

What Price Freedom  My father, being the military man that he was and still is, took my family traveling all over the world. In Italy, I saw the leaning tower of Piza and mimicked its slant. In France I stood atop the Eiffel Tower and stared down into the city of Paris. I have even walked on the sandy beaches of Hawaii and felt the cool ocean breeze blowing against my face. But for all these marvels that I have experienced, one experience was given to me in every country. My father would always take us to see the monuments of our fallen soldiers. And for a time I never could really understand why. While in Italy, my father and mother took us to see a place not known to me. I just remember stepping out of the car and walking up a steep hill. In front of us were iron gates, making me feel as if I were walking into a place of greatness, and in some ways it was. As I walked through gates, the first, and really the only, thing my eyes saw were graves. It was vast fields of crosses and Jewish stars as far as a young child’s eyes could see. I walked over to some of the graves and read the names and the dates. Sometimes there were no names at all, just the same inscribed message, “Here lies an unknown solider.” But being a child of five or six, I did not understand what it all quite meant. And while in France, I used to walk in the valleys and mountains near my family’s home. One sunny day they took me to see the grave of my great uncle. He had fought to the death against German soldiers with the French Resistance. The grave was nestled amongst a grove of trees, a tall stone pillar marked where he had fallen. It had his name, date of birth and death, and a loving message all written in French. I remember going up close to it pretending I could read what it said. But being a child of seven or eight, I did not understand what it all quite meant. And in, Hawaii, probably the saddest memorial of them all, I went on a tour. In Pearl Harbor’s cool, clear water lie many rusting ships, one of which is named the Arizona. After a long wait to get into the memorial, most people walk through the museum while others who don’t understand English very well are lead by a tour guide. The museum has all the information you could possibly pack in it. They talk about why Oahu is thought to be the best place for the U.S. Naval fleet, all events leading up to WWII, and after thoughts of the people and families affected by the attack on Pearl Harbor. When you are finished looking through the museum, it is time to go on to the memorial itself. A small passenger ferry takes you out to it. As you step off the ferry and on to the dock, you can read ARZONIA MEMORIAL written at the top of the monument. The long white monument is located width wise over the sunken ship. In the center of the memorial, you can look out to it in both directions and even see parts of the ship in the clear blue water. As I stood there, I felt touched. The poor men on the Arizona and on the other ships were just going along with their daily schedule. They had no idea of the impending danger on its way. To be laughing and talking with friends and shipmates one minute, then the next trying to figure out what is going on around you as you hear gunfire and things explode. The terror these men must have felt I can not possibly imagine and hopefully never will. I walked on to see a wall before me, a wall of names. It had the names of all the men who had been aboard that vessel, the names of the dead. A cold slab of stone that would be completely smooth if it were not for the carved names in its surface. I stepped back away for a moment to see the full wall. I thought of how these men must have kissed their loved ones and said, “I’ll see you soon”. The day they left for the islands of Hawaii, how lucky they must have felt. They must have thought duty in paradise would be wonderful, just like most think of it today. They all had family of some sort. A wife, child, mother, father, sister, brother even a girlfriend or fiancée they never had thought they had to say good-bye to so soon. They had a whole life ahead of them in which they chose to do their service to our great country. They wanted to do their duty, honor our country, give their lives for that fight to keep our nation free. And as I stepped closer once more, I ran my finger over each name, reading each name in turn, and finally at twelve years old, I understood what it all meant. This was the price of freedom. Bibliography:

Word Count: 870