Good Sense

Where Were You?

Today marks the 25th anniversary of the Challenger disaster.  Many of us remember exactly where we were, of course, as it is one of those impactful moments that one never forgets.  I was a junior in high school when it happened, and I was sitting in French class.  I can’t remember that teacher’s name, but her face is forever burned in my memory because of how it looked that day, pale and sallow as she stood at the front of the room and explained what had happened.  Honestly, I can’t remember if we were already watching the launch at the time, or if she turned it on afterwards so we could see the footage, but as we watched, I remember being very confused.  The impact of it did not come until later, as the footage and discussion of it circulated on the news and amongst everyone for days after that.  Remembering that event immediately makes me think of 9/11.  The day Elvis died.  Princess Diana’s tragic end.  I know exactly where I was those times.  But there are plenty of other events in my lifetime–arguably just as notable, equally as tragic–that I have little memory of.  Where was I when John Lennon was assassinated?  During the attempted assassination of Ronald Reagan?  When the Berlin Wall fell?  When the World Trade Center was bombed the first time?  Oklahoma City bombing?  Columbine?  Why are some events catalogued so specifically in my personal history and yet others are not?

The media has a lot to do with why we remember events, of course.  The more media coverage, the higher likelihood we will see it, repeatedly, and remember it.  But why the specific moments?   

Perhaps our memory of events such as assassinations are detailed because they involve just one person–one important person.  It makes sense that our consciousness would save those because there’s less for it to keep track of.  The singularity of the event is key.  But what about events that involve several people?  The first WTC bombing for example.  I remember virtually nothing about it.  But I remember that I was sitting on a plaid couch in my pajamas, in my living room in Rolla, MO, just getting ready to get in the shower, when the Twin Towers fell on September 11, 2001.  Is there a tipping point with regard to the numbers?  Does the sheer number of people killed that day drive its impact, make it more personal?   Or does our brain go back to the singularity and seize on say, one specific image–such as an explosion?

Al sorts of variables come into play, of course–the environment we are in, whether or not a teacher or someone else is reinforcing the memory, how much we engage with the media, and what elements of our own personal history get stirred when a tragic event happens.  But are our memories of specific events so closely tied to who we are that the memory is manifested as where we are?  Does it matter much, cognitively speaking, if the person impacted is a head of state or a close family member, for example?  Does our consciousness distinguish events based on internal, or external, criteria? 

I remember where I was then my grandmother passed away.  I was sitting at a desk at work eating my lunch when the phone rang.  It was my aunt calling to tell me.  After I got off the phone, I stood up, walked around for a few confused minutes, then returned to the class where I was substituting.  The hallway became sort of surreal, people passing me in a haze.  I remember thinking, “My grandma just died.”  And I wanted to tell someone, but there was no one to tell.  It was a rather small event in the grand scheme of things, but to me, in that instant, it was as impactful as a bomb, a pulled trigger, something gone terribly, catastrophically wrong.  For me, it was a moment sadly, and so vividly, to remember.