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Vive la Paix

November 23, 2015

For my sixteenth birthday, my dad took me to Paris. I’d taken French for a couple of years at the time, and though I wasn’t fluent, I loved the language and spoke it pretty well. I understood it fluently but was afraid to converse. We were warned about Parisians not caring for Americans. If we looked like we were struggling with French, they’d know we were American. Understandably intimidated, I brushed up on my key phrases and made a deal with my dad. I’d tell him what to say, and he’d do the talking.We climbed La Tour Eiffel and ordered “deux cocas, s’il vous plait.” We shopped a little and ate quiche in the café next to the Louvre. I sat at the sidewalk tables and watched the glamorous women smoking cigarettes and speaking French so quickly I could hardly keep up. Surely they were talking about something fancier than what to cook for dinner or their kids’ tennis lessons. It’s French. They only discuss fancy things.

We got lost once, screaming at each other in English. Dad was sure he knew where we were. I was pointing to the map, sure he was wrong. I was right. We eventually found our way, though I can’t remember where we were headed. Dinner was steak frites. Breakfast was an éclair and café au lait. Lunch was anything on a baguette, likely ham and butter. I drank only Le Coca (Cola), mostly because it was all I knew to request. With “don’t eat horse” precautions given before we left town, I was afraid to mispronounce anything. I wasn’t interested in a glass of horse.

It was a lovely trip. Magical, really. Paris is a magical place. The people weren’t rude. If they didn’t like us, we never knew it. Several even told me they were proud of my French and enjoyed that I was trying. We made it out of the country completely unscathed. If anything, I’ve longed to return.

The news out of Paris last weekend was devastating. Innocent lives were lost, and senses of security forever broken. It’s not that Paris deserved it any more or less than any other place. For me, Paris held the magic. For so many more, it was their home. The magic of a meal cooked by grandmother or laughter with a little brother. Taken away. 9/11 felt the same to the US. Buildings we went in and out of, without pause, became places of absolute fear. When it happens, and it does happen, it’s not fair. Unsuspecting, innocent people, caught off guard and changed forever. Terrorism takes away the magic.

I’m not sure what to do about it all. It feels hopeless at times. Fear is consuming. If you pray, you should pray. Pray for innocent lives, lost because of hate and anger. Even the simplest of magic, gone because of the most selfish of actions. If you don’t pray, meditate or send good juju. None of it can hurt. When peace prevails, and it will prevail, the magic will be restored. Slowly but surely, it’ll come back.

*originally published in The Metro Spirit, Augusta GA on 11/19/15

4 Comments leave one →
  1. Laura permalink
    November 24, 2015 2:14 am

    Thanks Jenny–I needed that! Happy Thanksgiving to you & the Man, the boy & the girl

    • Jenny permalink*
      November 24, 2015 8:02 am

      Thanks, Laura! And to you and yours!

  2. Birger permalink
    November 30, 2015 3:43 am

    Wonderfully written, Jenny. Still remember when you and your Dad was in Paris.

    • Jenny permalink*
      December 1, 2015 8:44 pm

      Thank you! So nice to hear from you. I’m trying to convince Dad that we need to come back!

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