Remembering the Challenger Explosion

     There are times in our lives when an event impacts us so much that when we hear about it, we are transported directly back in time to that day.  We remember small details that would seem meaningless any other time.  It could be a personal memorable moment or a national moment.  One of those moments for me happened on January 28th 1986 - The Challenger Explosion.

     This blog entry is dedicated to those who died in the Challenger. 
 In the back row, from left, mission specialist Ellison S. Onizuka, Teacher in Space Participant Sharon Christa McAuliffe, Payload Specialist Greg Jarvis and Mission specialist Judy Resnik. In the front row, from left, Pilot Mike Smith, Commander Dick Scobee, and Mission specialist Ron McNair.

     I was two weeks shy of my 9th birthday, in the third grade at St. Thomas Aquinas School in Saginaw, Mi.  Sister Sandy was one of the third grade teachers.  A lot of our class discussion that year was about how the space program was on a mission to send a teacher up and teach a class from space.  The teacher, Christa McAuliffe, we learned, was an average person, a wife, mother and teacher, that was selected by NASA to be a part of this historic event.  We were all mesmerized by the romance of the space program.  Many of my classmates wanted to become astronauts, myself included.  We would study all about the space program, first man on the moon, first air walk, how spacecrafts evolved.  Sister Sandy was one of the first teachers who discussed current events in our classroom. 

     It was the day of January 28th, 1986.  The day was like any other day.  I knew many of the adults were getting excited about the launching of the Challenger.  The junior high school students at St. Thomas Aquinas were all gathering together to watch it on TV.  We were a bit disappointed that we wouldn't be able to watch it ourselves.  Our lunch hour was at 11:30 and Sister Sandy excused herself to watch it with the other teachers in the teacher's lounge.  It was common for the students to eat lunch in the classroom and the teacher would go to the lounge before we would head outside to play.  On this day, it was biter cold and our recess was to be indoors. 

     We played and ran around the room and goofed off like what any other third grader would do on their indoor lunch break.  Everyone was enjoying their break.  Sister Sandy came into the classroom and we all scurried to our desks, even though we knew it was still a lunch break but no one wanted to be caught horsing around and getting into trouble.  We could tell she had been crying.  The room got serious real fast.  Something was the matter we just didn't know what. 

     Sister Sandy explained that there was terrible news.  The other teachers and herself were watching the launch in the lounge.  She informed us that something went wrong and the shuttle exploded and they believe everyone on board died.  A numbness filled the room.  It was so quiet that the ticking of the clock seemed loud at that moment.  Lesson plans were put away for the rest of the day.  We focused on talking about the accident.  I think Sister Sandy needed to talk about it as much as we students did. 

     Soon it was time to get ready to go home.  Usually we rush out to the hallways to get our snowgear, boots and bookbags.  Instead I grabbed my friend, Melissa, and told her we need to pray.  Under the crucifix hanging on the wall we knelt down, made the sign of the cross, In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen, and prayed for those who had died in the explosion and comfort for their families.  We followed it by reciting the Our Father Prayer then arose and walked quietly out to the hallway to gather our belongings.  Sister Sandy stopped us at the doorway and wondered what we were doing.  I simply told her we were praying.  She gave us huge hugs. 

     I got off the bus and went inside.  My mom, and my grandparents were already gathered in front of the the console TV.  They watched the whole thing and couldn't pull themselves away from the TV.  I sat myself on the couch and that is when I first seen the pictures of it.  I think I must of gasped by the horror of it all and then the realization that their families were probably in the crowd of people watching right there in Florida.  I couldn't imagine what it would be like seeing someone you loved, either a friend or a family member die like that and they were watching, powerless to help.  How do you walk away from something so tragic like that?  They would of had to scrape me off the stands. 

     Time marched on and as a nation we healed our wounds.  Five years later I was able to go to Washington D.C. for a class trip.  Walking through Arlington National Cemetery I came upon the Challenger Memorial.  I paused for a moment reliving the day all over again.  Their faces etched on the memorial gave tribute to those that lost their lives that day will never be forgotten.