I was fifteen and at school in Webster Groves, Missouri.
A couple of my geeky friends and I were cutting class to watch the launch, it was kind of a tradition and our teachers didn't really seem to mind that much. Challenger blew up, seperated and went down. I was only fifteen, but at that age I already wasn't supposed to cry in public. I was stunned for hours. The rowdy who was making jokes about the tragedy, and then started hassling me for my tears, ended up having to kick my ass when I attacked him. I didn't get in trouble.
I'm 32 and at work in Pennington, New Jersey.
My coworkers and I are glued to CNN and the web. All work has stopped. It's a good thing that we're not being slammed by a worm this week. I'm stunned again. Why does this seem more tragic than the WTC attack when only a handfull of people have died? Now that I'm 32, I'm still not supposed to cry.
It's going to be a tough day.