Price Of Freedom Personal Narrative

The Price of Freedom- Personal Narrative

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.

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