On Top of the Tower
Jack. Age 13. PA

“Where are we going now?” my seven-year-old self asked. No one answered; all I could hear was the loud humming from the metro car. Everyone there was silent, although they all seemed happy. I couldn’t see why they were so excited. After all, there are many beautiful places in Paris. It was the spring break of 2009; we had gone to Paris, France, and next we were heading to London. My dad, mom, Katie, Scott, Caroline, and I emerged from the stairs. I had to close my eyes. It was bright, very bright, for the middle of the day.

I stood awestruck, admiring it, as I stood in the spring time air. My legs became Jell-O. I smiled, savoring it. I had realized that not only was it bright out, but that the sunlight was reflecting off of it. I had been inept to not bring my hat. My brother and sisters started running towards it. I was still left behind; I just stood there, expecting something to happen. I started moving slowly. I could only see the apex and the base through the trees. It stood so high, tall enough to reach the sun. I was too small. It reached for the sky, just like how the trees try to reach its top. It was the Eiffel Tower.

I fell in love at first sight. I started to run, as fast as my legs could carry me. I caught up to my siblings. “First one to touch it wins!” I shouted as I passed them. I got to it first and waited for the rest of my family. Everyone had a great big smile as they walk closer and closer. I stood underneath, marvelling at the long metal wires and the shafts of metal all in twists and turns through there. Little streams of sunlight passed into the small openings between the metal. I felt cold, but it was worth it. Taking in the prized possession of Paris, we walked slowly around it. I walked, a little bit faster than everyone, around and around. Looking up, around, down, left, right, taking in all of it and its glory.
 
“Pictures!” my mother shouted when we all got together. We took a lot. I smiled, we all did, for the pictures. I stood in the front because I was the smallest, and my brother and dad stood in the back; everyone else was in the middle. We began to walk down the path to a large building on the opposite side of the tower. We walked…and walked…and walked… until we saw the view that many French people see from their houses, the best view I saw that day. We stood, admiring, looking from afar. The Eiffel tower stood there, alone, at 986 ft.
 
“Pictures!” my mother exclaimed again. We got in serious poses and silly poses. “Alright, Jack, get on my shoulders,” my brother Scott said to me. I was nimble and light. I got onto his shoulders and we laughed. He reached my hand to the top, although I knew I couldn’t reach it. “Okay, Jack, move your hand to the right,” my sister Katie mentioned, “And…perfect!” We laughed again, we took pictures of the others, and we “leaned” against it, “held it up,” and “touched” the top. We enjoyed it, every last minute. My family was hankering for some French treats, so we went to the closest café. We looked through each and every photo; we snickered, laughed, chuckled, anything to show how funny we thought we were.

Because we were. We had fun, at a very serious place, with very silly things. A national, worldwide monument was the source of our laughter. No matter where I went for the rest of the day, I looked up, in the hope of seeing it, standing proud and tall for all to see. Then my seven-year-old self questioned, “Where can we go next?”

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