Video flicker of a burning sky
Sometimes, when we reach for the stars, we fall short. But we must pick ourselves up again and press on despite the pain.
Like many after me, I was awoken to - made aware of - a world ablaze. We watched in horror as one of humanity's proudest accomplishments crumbled and burned. This was long before my infatuation with America had waned, their image untarnished by subsequent experience. The overwhelming emotion, once the shock subsided, was an empathic sorrow for a great nation's loss; the heroes consumed in fire or worse.
Brought with it was a more disquieting thought; no matter how powerful or well-prepared you are, nothing can save you from disaster. Pure control exists only in the mind.
It was January 28th, 1986.
This Christmas, I came home as the prodigal son - in the sense commonly used with reference to the fable, not in its literal one. I had a job people understood, working for a company they knew; and doing good work, that enriched people's lives, with people considered my intellectual equals. I brought home gifts beyond their expectations, and a beautiful girl who enchanted everyone who met her. It was the first I recall my father treating me with pride.
Claiming that I'd overfilled his library, he insisted I took his copy of What do you care what other people think?, which I'm sure a younger self had attempted to read. The tales of learning to kiss jolted some memories. Clearly I'd wearied of it before he mentioned Challenger.
I see now why you admired him, brusque asshole apparently that he was. He fought a giant bureaucracy for answers during his last fight with cancer, and won.
But his chapter is done. And the Shuttle's draws close. At least we both saw the peak of humanity.
You taught me it was okay to be different, to think differently, to be curious, to pursue knowledge. Sure, you made mistakes. Everyone does. One thing you always got right, which I imagine he inspired you to, and you've finally reminded me -
There's always hope, as long as you keep asking questions.
Happy birthday, dad. I love you.
( with thanks to Scott)
Like many after me, I was awoken to - made aware of - a world ablaze. We watched in horror as one of humanity's proudest accomplishments crumbled and burned. This was long before my infatuation with America had waned, their image untarnished by subsequent experience. The overwhelming emotion, once the shock subsided, was an empathic sorrow for a great nation's loss; the heroes consumed in fire or worse.
Brought with it was a more disquieting thought; no matter how powerful or well-prepared you are, nothing can save you from disaster. Pure control exists only in the mind.
It was January 28th, 1986.
This Christmas, I came home as the prodigal son - in the sense commonly used with reference to the fable, not in its literal one. I had a job people understood, working for a company they knew; and doing good work, that enriched people's lives, with people considered my intellectual equals. I brought home gifts beyond their expectations, and a beautiful girl who enchanted everyone who met her. It was the first I recall my father treating me with pride.
Claiming that I'd overfilled his library, he insisted I took his copy of What do you care what other people think?, which I'm sure a younger self had attempted to read. The tales of learning to kiss jolted some memories. Clearly I'd wearied of it before he mentioned Challenger.
I see now why you admired him, brusque asshole apparently that he was. He fought a giant bureaucracy for answers during his last fight with cancer, and won.
But his chapter is done. And the Shuttle's draws close. At least we both saw the peak of humanity.
You taught me it was okay to be different, to think differently, to be curious, to pursue knowledge. Sure, you made mistakes. Everyone does. One thing you always got right, which I imagine he inspired you to, and you've finally reminded me -
There's always hope, as long as you keep asking questions.
Happy birthday, dad. I love you.
( with thanks to Scott)