Circa 1986
Jacqueline Canton
I've been sitting here at
my desk for the last four hours trying to write an annotated bibliography. “Why is
this needed?” I ask myself. To no avail I still haven't found the answer yet.
My mind
can't help but wander. I'm trying to rap along with Slim Shady and how I can't be no one's
Superman. I then attempt to sing in tune with the boys of Depeche Mode. My mind is nowhere
near where it should be. Instead, I'm
thinking about the time Mrs. Wlodarczyk taught us a unit on space. We were assigned
partners to work with, and I worked with Adam Prethune, the only black kid in my school.
We had a special kind of bond; he was the only black kid, and I was the only Jewish
kid. Later on a few more Hebrews, none of which played a major part in my life, joined me
in the halls of elementary school.
During
the space unit in my grade two class, we were asked to memorize the planets in order,
learn all sorts of facts and illustrate the technical aspects of the Shuttle. It was at
that moment I discovered my first obsession: space. Everything about it was cool; it was
much bigger than me, you got to do all kinds of cool stuff and you were weightless (a
dream I still wish to achieve)! Best yet, Canada was embarking on making a considerable
contribution to NASA's space programme; we designed the Canada Arm, which is still being
used at the international space station.
In grade
three, I came home for lunch as normal. It was cold, but beautifully sunny day. Life was
good. Of course it was - I was in grade 3. My mum greeted me at the door, and told me that
the Challenger had exploded. I inhaled my lunch as fast as I could and ran back to school
so I could be the first one to report the big news. My friends didn’t flinch, as they
were too busy playing a game. Fine, the kids didn’t care, but my teacher would.
"What kind of horrible rumor are you starting Jackie?" she quickly replied. I
was mortified. I didn't lie. I've never stepped into the office for anything, except to
deliver the attendance! Lie? No way. Eventually
she apologized to me, but as you can tell I never forgot.
Saturday
was an equally sunny day as January 28, 1986, just not as cold. I was running out the door
to keep up with the grade two's I teach. As I made sure their somewhat neurotic parents
were picking them up, I met my ride.
"Did
you here the news?"
“No,
what's up?” In my mind I assumed something bad had happened in Israel as per usual.
"The space shuttle exploded. They aren't sure what happened. They were coming back to
land. They only had fifteen minutes left."
I stood there amongst the laughter of children and
conversations between parents. This time the role was reversed: I was Mrs. Kerr and I
didn’t want to believe the news.
We
got home and I kicked my friend Sara off the TV. I was glued to CNN, watching what looked
like asteroids plummeting to the ground. My
obsession with space and all its gizmos has lasted seventeen years, despite witnessing two
tragedies.
I can't even floss my teeth without my mind
wandering and looking for answers to why things turn out the way they do. For the last
while I've been thinking that everything is a big test being given by god or what ever you
want to call it. If I relate my questioning specifically to the Jewish religion, it’s
posed a bit differently; are we dealing with war, loss of the first Israeli astronaut, and
other disasters to help us find our faith? Jewish scholars and the observant believe that
until all Jews are united in their faith toward god, we will not receive the Messiah. Will
a renewal in faith really bring the Messiah? I mean, I feel like I'm being tested all
the time, but I'm not holding my breath for the Messiah. Surely the Messiah knows
everything I've done in my short life, and I can’t imagine I’d be invited into
the “perfect world!”
I
am usually quick to respond to world issues, but even though I've written these paragraphs
I feel like I'm at a loss for words. I'm so sad. Sad for the families, sad for Israel, and
sad to be a part of humanity that feels maybe this world isn't big enough, so we need to
explore the unknown. I know there must be some good that comes out of space discovery, but
perhaps it's time to give it a rest.
I'm
just beginning to realize (and I've got a long way to go) how precious life really is. A
spokesperson from NASA said we (society) think space missions are a normal part of life,
but they're not. And I guess waking up each morning is also seen as normal part of life.
But it's not either. Each night, I go to sleep thanking who ever it is out there for
allowing me to perform all the tasks I needed to accomplish. I ask that my family and
friends go to sleep in peace and wake up the next day.
And as I go to bed
tonight, I will sigh at all the schoolwork I have to do for this week, and how I can make
it through the next nine weeks until the year is over. And before I have time to take in
another breath, I will ask that all of you may have a good night's rest, and face the new
day with an abundance of strength and health.
Here’s to waking up.
Toronto,
Canada |
