This is a parent page for a sampling of clip files from previous publications. I’ll keep adding them as I have time.
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I’m sat with my parents on our large, sectional sofa and in my favorite spot, the middle surrounded by all the pillows. My dad has turned on another docuseries because it’s one of the few things we all three can agree to watch: Tonights’ fascinating true story, The Challenger Launch of 1986. My parents watch the show with tears in their eyes, remembering what it was like the first time they saw this footage in the first grade. “It was a sudden loss of innocence,” my dad recalls, “the sudden realization of death.” He had wanted to be an astronaut once he was older but lost this dream as he saw those seven passengers killed. I didn’t feel a thing when watching the video of that rocket explode. Sure, I was sad, but nothing raw and real, just numb. I realized something at that moment; my generation is desensitized to disaster. The constant publicity of all that is bad was shoved in my face from the time my family bought our first TV. I don’t remember a time where I didn’t wake up in the morning to some catastrophic news. Houses destroyed by hurricanes and fires, innocent citizens killed by police for no reason other than their skin color, and women, much like myself, being taken from the streets and their homes. I remember many mornings leaving for school as the TV played footage of children my age being killed at the very place I was going. In the eighties, yes, seeing seven people die on live television was a national tragedy, but in the two-thousands, that seems like every other morning.