Throughout history men have looked to the stars as dreamers, visionaries or adventurers. I was a product of the space-race generation. Even as a little child, I looked to the stars.
We were a generation that had awesome heroes. Even our parents were heroes. Most of our folks were engineers, technicians, or rocket scientists at the space center.
Everything was new and exciting. These people were not learning this from textbooks. Their ideas and actions were writing the textbooks. They still are.
Spaceflight can never be boring; neither can the technology it produces.
Any American kid can grow up to be president of the United States. The space generation set their sights higher. They reached for the stars because only the very best could be astronauts. As they gave the ages of the Columbia crew members on the news, I realized that they were from my generation, but they went for the dream. They became the heroes.
I have seen every manned mission blast off. The early rockets could be heard and felt long before they became visible. The vibrations started in your feet and went through your whole being. The windows of the houses rattled until we were sure that they would shatter. Today the shuttle is so quiet that it seems fragile compared to the older, heavier rockets. The people inside are not fragile. They broach the heavens with the greatest courage, and we are the beneficiaries.
Sixteen minutes from home, in their very real time, seven pinpoints of life went out. But not their dream, our dream. It will go on. Their memory will make it a certainty, as will we.
Donna Ritchley
Merritt Island
