October 29, 1998
"...six American heroes and one American legend...." NASA

Shortly after 11:15 am this morning, after several holds and delays, John Glenn returned to space.  I was surprised to find tears in my eyes watching the shuttle roar into orbit, lost in time and memories of other launches stretching back to the Apollo series.  In many ways, the history of the space program is a time-line of my life.

May 5, 1961  Just after my first birthday, Alan Shepard became the first man in space.

Feb. 20, 1962  I had a brand new baby sister, and a brand new hero: John Glenn.

Christmas eve, 1968.  I remember sitting on the floor with my cousins, filled with awe and wonder as the crew of Apollo 8 read from Genesis and showed us our fragile home for the first time.  I was 8 years old, and all the universe opened before me.

July 20, 1969.  At the age of 9, holding my 4-month-old baby brother in my arms, I watched Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon.  I dreamed of someday walking in his footprints.

April 11-17, 1970.  For a week I was glued to the television, absorbed in the drama of Apollo 13 and praying they would return alive.  When finally, against the odds they splashed down, I truly believed that miracles did happen.  But only that one; my beloved grandmother died 6 weeks later.  That night I stood in the back yard, searching the sky for meteors.  That loving woman known outside the family as Katie Wiese had always told me that shooting stars were souls bound for heaven.

May 14, 1973  The launch of Skylab, just after my 13th birthday.  I was a teenager in the age of space and the reality of an American space station seemed to testify that world of Star Trek would happen within my lifetime.

July 11, 1979  I finished my freshman year in college.  Skylab demostrated that what goes up must come down.

June 18, 1983  Pregnant with my first child, I hugged my stomach and cheered for Sally Ride, the first woman in space.  Though I would never walk in Neil Armstong's footprints, perhaps my daughter would.

January 28, 1986  Pregnant with my second daughter Meredith, I woke four-year-old Julia at dawn to watch the launch of the Shuttle Challenger, then held her in my arms while I sobbed in disbelief as it, and America's illusions about the safety of space travel, beame a shooting star, 7 souls going to heaven.  I remember horror freezing the face of that child whose intellect allowed her to grasp concepts her young heart couldn't accept, and the hope I'd nursed that perhaps she would follow the dreams into space turned to fear that she would.
    I remember the first time she cried over it -- five years later at the anniversary Moment of Silence -- the same age that I saw Neil Armstrong walk on the moon.  I cried with her, for the loss of innocence and dreams I'd taken for granted at her age, and tried to explain to Meredith why something that happened before she was born still mattered so much.

October 29, 1998  John Glenn, the hero of my youth, returned to space, despite his age, despite the disasters and failures, despite the changing world and death of dreams.  I watched this launch alone, reliving all the moments of my timeline, and praying he would not become a shooting star.  As they cleared the atmosphere and rose into to orbit, I cheered and cried and dared to dream again.  Just a little.
 

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