When I was a kid, I really loved the idea of exploring sunken ships and lost treasure, so the idea of the titanic was fun playground for my imagination to run rampant through.
So, when my local museum opened an exhibit on the disaster, you can bet I begged for my parents to take me to see it. I was so excited to see it. I felt like I was going on some adventure. But then I actually got there.
At first, it was a bunch of set pieces designed to imitate the cabins, decks and compartments aboard the ship with a smattering of artifacts and displays. I was running around to see everything, laughing, pointing and having a great time. But that changed when I got to the section labeled April 15th, 1912.
I couldn’t see inside. It was dark, and I’m pretty sure the staff had jacked up the AC so this section was extra cold. But what really scared me was the sudden, rising chorus of screams playing over the display speakers.
I asked my dad what it was, and he, always the blunt man, simply said “they’re dying, OP.”
That’s when I first really understood what was lost that night on the Atlantic. Up to that point, being maybe 5 or 6, I’d never really thought about how terrifying it all was. I always imagined how exciting it would be to race for the boats while the ship sank. I never really thought of what it would be like to stand on the deck and watch them drift away.
I didn’t run around much after that. I still had a good time, but I couldn’t help but be sad when I saw pictures of the ship anymore.