One of the endless cliches about life in general is that you always remember where you were for really big news, but small, everyday things often slip past your notice... even when they really shouldn't.

I vividly remember where I was when the first Space Shuttle went up, even if the rest of the day was bits and pieces. My mother brought that old, plastic radio we had for emergencies along in the car ride to school. And we listened to the news the whole way there, hoping that we'd hear it go off.

Of course, the spectacle was fraught with delays and pauses, so it didn't launch for us in the car. And I know we didn't watch it in school, since I would have remembered that. But I've seen that first, historic launch time after time, later that day and ever since, and it always makes me proud to see it.

I also vividly remember where I was when the Challenger exploded. I was in Social Studies class, and one of the Principals got onto the PA system to announce it. I remember sitting at my desk and feeling my head go numb as it sunk in.

Everyone was shocked, but it wasn't long before sick jokes started circulating. I even told a few, myself. I also remember being disappointed when MTV later took their traditional, 'shuttle launch' station ID spots off because the images were "too painful" to watch.

But I can't tell you where I was, or what day it was, when the second shuttle was launched, or when they got another one up after the Challenger disaster. That's not all. I can't tell you when the second-to-last shuttle mission was launched, either. The only living, shuttle-era astronaut I really remember is Story Musgrave because of an interview I read. And I can't remember all the names of the shuttles, or who flew in them, or what all they've really been up to, lately.

It's just passed me by like leaves in the breeze. Sometime in there, before Challenger, and then some time after Challenger right up until now, space flight has become a part of the routine for me. A shuttle goes up, a shuttle flies a mission, a shuttle touches down and all is right with the world. The wonder is gone, and with it the appreciation for just what is going on.

It's not that I'm ignorant of the facts in question. I know that our shuttle is launched on top of three, big rockets that could blow the mission to kingdom come in its first few seconds. I realize that micrometeoroids and space junk whizzing by at amazing speeds could turn the ship inside-out with one, good hit. The vacuum, extreme heat and cold and solar radiation make the outside environment something very dangerous, and it's just outside of a space suit that's only so thick.

And as for reentry... well, I'm sure you're sick of seeing the Columbia footage played over and over again by now. One astronaut likened coming back down to trying to fly a brick with wings. Imagine trying to do it with something broken, or not quite right, and then consider how lucky we are that out of all those flights, this is the only time it's happened.

But that's the problem: all those flights have made us blase, maybe even a little naive, of just what we're really doing. Space flight is dangerous business. We've made amazing achievements in the field since the early days of the space program, but we've also paid a high price for them from time to time. The first Apollo crew, the Challenger, and now Columbia: a million things could go wrong, even if they rarely do, and the results are not always so forgiving.

Seven people went on board the Columbia as astronauts. It was just another flight with another crew, and another mission schedule. Now that they have fallen back to Earth, we're calling them heroes.

But I think we've gotten that wrong. We should have called them heroes long before their Viking funeral. We should have been calling them that the moment they rode the elevator up, strapped themselves down and settled in for the launch.

Once, I sat through a minor diatribe from one fellow I knew about how the Challenger astronauts weren't heroes. Sure, what happened was a tragedy, but that didn't make them heroes. They were just doing their job, and it went sideways on them - what's so heroic about that?

For a while, I sort of agreed with him; It sounded logical on its face. But the Columbia, coupled with the aftermath of September 11th, has changed my opinion in a big way.

9/11. Who could forget the sacrifice of the police officers, firemen and emergency workers who died that day? Their "job" called for them to save and protect the lives of others, and they did so knowing that they might be required to put their own on the line. They went in and did it anyway, and many of the living have the dead to thank for it.

But, while 9/11 was an extraordinary - hopefully once-in-a-lifetime - occurrence, the need for those same people to go ride into death's hands is not. How many fires have happened in your city, lately? How many disasters? How many armed standoffs, or robberies? At every one, there's been firefighters, police officers and emergency workers, doing their best to keep you alive, even if it means they can't do the same for themselves.

Routine? Maybe for you, but not for them. It's all routine until someone gets killed on your behalf. Police, firemen, soldiers and - yes - our space explorers are all out there risking themselves for us, day after day. And I think that makes them heroes.

Maybe we should pay less attention to flashy heroism that comes with a cape or an amazing feat, and pay more attention to the quiet, everyday heroism that often escapes our notice. Maybe we should say "thank you" to our real heroes, past and present, whoever they may be and whatever they may do. And maybe we should take the time to appreciate the extraordinary things we can do - and extraordinary people who make it all possible - instead of letting it fall into the "routine" of daily life.

Me, I'll be watching for the next shuttle launch with new eyes, tempered by tragedy and reawakened to the extraordinary adventure that it really is. I hope I won't be the only one, either.

I thought I was okay alone - wait for the postman and the telephone - lost in a world of my own - I thought I could run alone - thought I could run through the night alone

Hand Over Fist - Rush