There once
was a little girl with curly brown hair and oval eyes
that lit up her face when she smiled. The little girl
had lived an adventurous life thus far. Her family was
constantly moving. They had moved from two different countries
and were about to move again. The little girl stared up
at the long white boat in front of her, the words Marco
Polo painted in scrawling letters across its side. It
loomed in the water, slowly beating itself against the
dock in the lapping waves.
The little
girl squeezed her father’s hand, scared to step
any closer. Her father’s hand wrapped itself around
hers, warm and sturdy. Anton Keser looked down at his
daughter’s small face and smiled. He was taking
her to a new place, with new people, new opportunities.
He had moved many times throughout Europe to find work
for his small family. Anton did not mind the travel, though.
He had been exposed to many people, many beautiful cultures.
Anton was enamored with the world around him and in love
with his beautiful little family. He glanced down at his
young daughter. Her curly hair sat on her head like a
wild, fuzzy mop and tiny anxious creases fixed themselves
on her small forehead. Many years ago, my grandfather,
Anton Keser, moved his family through multiple countries
to find work. He was a hard working man, a kind hearted
man. The European Union was established to help people
like my grandfather. When I see or hear of the European
Union, I see my grandfather’s face and hear his
voice. I see my mother’s curly hair, her tiny feet
following his every step.
To me, the
European Union is a light to many like my family. It is
a group of member states individual each in their customs
and cultures, but united in their efforts. The Union seeks
to protect the rights of citizens to work and move freely.
It delivers justice, freedom and security. It educates,
trains, and employs. It extends its hands to all, even
humble hardworking men like my grandfather. Well developed
communication and travel industries have given me, a young
American woman, the opportunity to retrace the journey
of my grandfather. Many years ago, my grandfather climbed
aboard a boat holding tightly the small hand of his daughter.
As they sailed up towards the twinkling lights of a new
city, my grandfather smiled. He knew their journey was
far from over, he knew they would probably move again.
For now, though, he heard the fluid sound of a new language.
For now, he smelled the tastes of a new culture. For now,
he gazed at the faces of a new people. Yes, this city,
this Paris, was as beautiful as he had been told. For
now, this was perfect.
