By
Cory Spiller
Editor's note: Cory Spiller is studying in Paris on a UA study abroad program
On Saturday, France celebrated Bastille Day. Bastille Day is sort of the French equivalent of our Independence Day. Parisians flood the streets trying to get the best possible view of the firework display at the Trocadero, which, by the way, was truly mesmerizing. Gorgeous explosions of light silhouetted the Eiffel Tower, and the grand finale put to shame anything I had ever seen on the Fourth of July in Arizona. Yet, for some reason, I felt homesick.
Ten days before, on July 4, a small group of Americans and I went in search of an American Independence Day party in Paris. We had been told that there would be a garden party at the U.S. Embassy for all Americans. We had visions of the U.S. Ambassador dressed in a pair of swim trunks, a chef hat, and an apron that read, "kiss the cook." We were fools.
The U.S. Ambassador does not have a giant barbecue on the Fourth of July. He does not cook hot dogs and hamburgers and hand out red cups to be filled with American beer in the dozen or so kegs that litter the embassy's garden. The Ambassador has a party in his private residence attended by foreign dignitaries and VIPs. We found this out in the office of the embassy as a condescending guard smiled at us and released us back on the streets of Paris.
We hung our heads and shuffled our feet out the door of the embassy, through the streets of Paris, and into a local bar. We searched the menu for American brand beers and finally settled for Corona. I heard my friend sing "My Country 'Tis of Thee" under his breath, hoping no one could hear him. I heard his voice crack and watched as a single tear rolled down his cheek and into the foam of his Mexican beer. All right, that didn't happen, but you get the point - we were melancholy.
Bastille Day is a special day in France - it celebrates the first revolution, the first time the French people took up arms to demand their rights. And the principles of the first revolution still remain in France today, Liberty, Egality, and Fraternity. I understood and I related to the pride of the French people, yet I didn't feel that tingle of patriotism that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. These fireworks were not for me. I would have traded it all for a hot dog, an American flag, and a bottle rocket.
As I watched several tri-color fireworks explode above the Eiffel Tower I reached into a pocket of my coat. I pulled out a small stone and squeezed it in my fist.
The previous weekend, I had gone to Normandy and visited Omaha beach. I sat down and began running my toes through the sand. I watched the waves of the English Channel break peacefully and slide up the sand. It was hard to imagine that this was where so many of our grandfathers had come to die - so far from home on this foreign beach.
I looked behind me up the hill where the American cemetery is kept in pristine condition in honor of our dead. Thousands upon thousands of white crosses and the Stars of David seem to stretch to infinity. It was here on this hill that the Germans where waiting with their machine guns and artillery - the machine guns that took the lives of so many men before they stepped foot off the boat. I picked up a stone, hoping that later in life it would remind me on this feeling of tragedy, perseverance, and pride that I felt on the beaches of Normandy.
And as the grand finale dimmed and the people cheered. I no longer felt homesick. Our grandfathers that died on the beaches of Normandy did not die in vain. They died to protect this Republic, this nation that believes in liberty and the power of the people. We have something invested here. We can feel pride in the fact that we helped save these people's right to celebrate their nation's holiday. And finally, I did feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck.
