When I was a young kid, and we moved from the relative serenity of my birthplace, Mason, Ohio, to the loud, urban maelstrom of suburban Detroit, I suffered from homesickness and often expressed my desire to return to my home by drawing the Eiffel Tower on everything...Etch-A-Sketch, drawing paper, making it out of wood blocks and Legos (obsessed much?) I was like the people in "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" with their [although implanted] fixation on Devil's Tower, Wyoming.
Teachers and social workers picked up on this, and tried to talk me into accepting that I might not return for many years. I kept believing, though and, through circumstances in my parents' lives, finally moved back to Mason in 1980 with much peace and jubilation.
First stop: Kings Island, where I got to go up into the tower for the first time in a long while. I can't explain how special that was, but to a kid it's pretty neat. I never visit the park without at least a stop at Tower Drinks. The tower, as well as the whole park, is a landmark of happiness in my otherwise stormy young life.