The Challenger Explosion Is the Day My Brain Broke
Life continued to move on for others after this tragedy, but something within me grinded to a halt
I remember it as 1984.
I remember it as the third grade, three months before the new tire swing on the playground. Before the contest to see who could spin the fastest and the longest, during recess, began. Before I stood in front of the class and threw up all over Mrs. Zeroski’s shoes.
Google tells me that it was 1986 when it happened. Says that it was probably Mrs. Moelling in the fifth grade. But I remember it as part of 1984, the year it all began to fall apart, so I will tell it the way I remember it. With the faces and people who stain my memory. What is truth if it’s not the place where reality and memory meet?
I remember everything as 1984. As eight years old. As third grade. As a year of disappointment and heaviness and worry and everything in my brain switching from steady and somewhat okay to enveloping me in a sadness I didn’t understand.
I remember that each classroom had a television in it so we could watch historic moments as they happened and this was undeniably one. All of us, overwhelmed with excitement, giggles and chatter ricocheting off the walls. I remember our teacher…
