After eating lunch on January 28, 1986, I was casually walking down the hall of my high school when a friend told me that the Space Shuttle had exploded immediately after take-off. I thought it was a joke (albeit a bad one) but I found the nearest TV in any case to see for myself. For the rest of the afternoon I sat with my fellow students motionless and speechless, ignoring the ringing school bells as we watched the horrific scene over and over and over again.
Today, the only American news media I have available to me is online. I've read through the reports of the latest NASA tragedy and of course I can not help but be reminded of the Challenger explosion 17 years ago, or of 747s flying into the World Trade Center 17 months ago.
I have always been a huge fan of NASA, or at least of the ideals, visions and dreams of the men and women who work hard to realize them. So now I sit here with a rock in my stomach as I think about who and what was lost in the name of science and of exploration and of adventure.
An age old tragedy as man has an instinctual desire to learn, experience, conquer, and protect.
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