i was in second grade when the challenger, carrying teacher christa mcauliffe and a crew of brilliant scientists and explorers, was snatched out of the air by a fiery fate. as my classmates and i whirled around on the school’s blue cafeteria stools trying unsuccessfully to trade our carrot sticks  for others’ sugar-coated desserts, the grave voice of our headmaster came through the loud speaker and shocked everyone into stillness. he told us what had happened to the challenger, and i watched as my teachers looked aghast and teary.

my world was full of smocked dresses and church-league sports, and homework was the closest thing to a tragedy i had yet experienced. but in that moment, i got the sense that the grown-ups knew much more than i did about the world, which could apparently be sad and scary enough to make even teachers cry.

now, over two decades later, as i vacation with my family and extended family in florida’s beautiful white sandy gulf coast, i have those same second grade school cafeteria feelings, only this time, i’m in the role of a teacher. with two kids in my charge, one of whom will likely have half-memories of the oil leak like mine of the challenger’s explosion, i wonder how much of the world’s underbelly the monkey is taking in.

of course he doesn’t fully understand what has happened or how to fix it. does anybody? but he can use words like “dispersant” in conversation now. he looks, with his cousins, through binoculars at the boats in front of our condo and runs with packs of older children to inform adults that the boats are “laying out boom.” was the monkey standing on the shore when my brother plucked a small oil conglomerate out of the surf and used it to draw a slick black line on his hand? or will this trip go down in his personal history as the one when he first tried boogie boarding?

the beaches a few miles west of us were closed yesterday after black, gooey, half-baked pancakes of slippery black oil washed up on shore. my brother and sister-in-law trekked down there with the the sense of awareness and responsibility that comes when one knows that history is being made right before one’s eyes. as i type, the water in front of me still looks beautiful, but some say it’s already marked by a different texture and enough dispersant to cause a rash. it will not be long before the oil hits here in full force.

meanwhile, we will continue our evening softball games in the courtyard. the monkey will continue to delight in this village extended family. he’ll continue to work on his new swimming skills in the pool, and he’ll probably even get to make a few more sandcastles. but somewhere, in the midstof all of this, he must be intuiting that human beings, for all of our creativity and intelligence, are limited. it must be dawning on him, little by little, that the world can be a sad and scary place. he is gradually joining the rest of us in a world beautifully described by william sloane coffin as a place that is “too dangerous for anything but truth and too small for anything but love. ”

[the pictures from this post were taken yesterday near the east pass in destin, florida by my brother, jamie.]