When I was eleven I saw an explosion presented to me right there
on the television screen. When it happened my teacher leapt from his chair to
shut the program off. One week later my favorite TV character went home to her
dad crying because she had seen the same explosion. I'm thirty-six now which
means it was twenty-five years ago that I saw the challenger explode. Back then
people loved progress. They televised things like the Challenger reaching for
space. Now I am the teacher and all the media gives for the sake of inspiring
children is war, riots, and demonstrations for ideals that are there or not
there, who really knows.
Today, I wrote a line for my students, “she screamed for
she loved the pain of it,” I meant it as a small gesture for Halloween. I wrote
it in relation to goblins and ghouls. But the reactions I received came in
expressions stating that I needed help, psychological help. Never mind that the
rest of the story involved the girl being devoured while still alive.
I'm aware that these stories address two different scenes,
two different mindsets and circumstances. But in the wake of Halloween comes the
foremost holidays of the American year. And I can say with all sincerity that I
miss my childhood. I miss the era when it was better to shield a child from an
explosion than to let the child lick realities wounds. I want back what time
has taken away. I don't mourn the simpleness of life for myself. I mourn it for
my children. They are the ones the magic is for now, but I'm not sure the magic
still lives.
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