Farewell and Godspeed

I am a child of the 80s.

Not that I was born in the 80s. . . my appearance in this world predates the 1980s by a couple of years, but most of my formative years spanned the 80s.

And those years also coincide with the heyday of the manned space flight.

I remember gathering in the elementary library at school—one of the only places in the school with a TV in those days—a little before school started to watch space shuttles blast off. I was at home, watching on TV the day the Challenger exploded, a day off from school because our superintendent had passed away and the school system was given the day off to attend the funeral. Things like that happen in small towns.

I remember eating freeze-dried ice cream—and possibly Tang—in class, talking about what the astronauts would eat during their missions. My brother harbored a secret wish to go to Space Camp, and I remember a vacation when we all went to Huntsville, Ala., to learn all about the space program. We watched movies about the space program and how astronauts trained, and I guess my fear of heights had already begun to develop, because during one of those movies I became so terrified of what the astronauts were doing on the screen that I hyperventilated.

Yep.

That’s when I knew space wasn’t really for me.

But the idea of it, what grandeur! The fact that brave men and women would blast off into the galaxy, into a land of zero gravity. To see the earth rise. To see the stars up close. There’s something pretty awesome about all of that.

So today, after the Atlantis has made its final landing and there will be no more shuttle launches, I’m a little sad.

It’s a little like saying good-bye to a piece of my childhood.