An event that changed me...

Growing up in the shadow of the space shuttle program was an exciting experience for those of us living within the vicinity of NASA. I watched from 3.5 miles away as the first shuttle launch of Columbia blasted off, as the first woman took flight, and as the space industry rushed back into life. But all the excitement was background noise in my life, after a few years it was routine and kind of boring for a child in that big shadow. The space program was perfect to my 12-year-old mind until one day it was shattered along with the space shuttle Challenger.

I was a cold crisp day the Florida sun was shining, and the excitement was floating in the air. It was always exciting to watch a shuttle launch. We could go outside with our class and talk to our friends. Growing up watching the shuttle program either from the space center, our front yards, a schoolyard, the beach, or the car made it feel like just another launch. But at school we could talk to our friends in the school yard. This day would change the boredom we felt; we were excited looking at that clear blue sky and talking to friends.

The countdown started; all my 6th grade classmates whispered as the numbers counted down to ignition. With rockets blazing the Challenger space shuttle lifted off the launch pad with the first teacher, Christa McAuliffe, blasting into space. I was excited to be able to see her teach classes from space. To see her floating while she taught us about her experience was something I was looking forward to.

A soft "boom" almost like a book shutting traveled on the cold breeze. A ball of clouds with tendrils reaching out with flames on the ends reached towards us. Inside the ball, we saw fire like a small sun covered in clouds. All went still and quiet I remember, and we looked at each other with questions on our faces. Some had their hands over their mouths, teachers had tears in their eyes. Time stood still, cars drove by, birds chirped, the breeze ruffled the leaves, but the cold didn't touch us as we stood still. Did and hour go by or a minute? Someone ran from the office screaming, "It exploded!" This shattered the silence, we just stood there confused. Teachers cried, hugged each other, and then gathered us around them like hens with their chicks. We slowly walked back to our classrooms; no one thinking about our impending math test.

The rest of the day we sat and listened over the intercom the newscaster's constant stream of words. I felt numb all over; a giggle was on the verge of exploding as my 12-year-old mind tried to process seeing the death of seven people. Later that night my mom and I watched the news and I talking continually as the news rolled in and we waited to hear if the astronauts survived. I remember thinking how perfect the day was and how unfair that it had happened.

Our lives changed that day like every major tragedy. Friends and classmates lives changed as their parents lost jobs, and depression sank into the area. My best friend's dad worked with the astronauts daily and I remember his constant drinking after losing people who'd become his friends. In the days that followed we were reminded of it by the sadness in the eyes of neighbors. Weeks and months passed by and then 365 days later we honored those seven people with seven minutes of silence in the seventh-grade classroom. Then eighteen months passed, September 29, 1988, another flight was planned, another crew was chosen. We stood and watched history being made. This time the excitement, as we stood in another school yard, was for the launch, people in our community, and the routine of our lives slipping back into place.