There’ve been a lot of these sorts of posts around today, on my friendslist and whatnot.
I was in our orange Datsun on my way to school. Dad was driving (he worked at the high school that’s right across from the junior high) and we were most of the way through town, listening to the news on the radio when it was reported that the Challenger had just exploded on take-off. I almost couldn’t breath. Today, nineteen years later, I still get the same gut-wrenching feeling of shock and disbelief. I got out of the car and went to sit in the lobby between the two sets of doors–the school doors didn’t open til 8, and I always got to school around 7:30, ’cause high school started earlier and Dad, being a teacher, had to get there fairly early. There were two or three other kids already there. I didn’t say anything to them about it because to do so only seemed gratuitious, even though it was horribly important. A few minutes later two more kids who didn’t have my reservations came in and blurted, “The space shuttle just exploded!” I remember thinking they sounded excited, not horrified, although I have no idea if that’s true or not.
Several years ago, Dad asked if there was a moment in my generation like the Kennedy assassination for my parents’ generation. I said, without hesitation, the Challenger explosion.
This is not a good week for the space program.