Memories...
One of my earliest memories is of the 6.9 Loma Prieta earthquake. The date was October 17, 1989 and I was 3 years old, in less than two weeks I would be turning 4. The epicenter was located somewhere near Santa Cruz so we were far enough away to not be much affected, damage-wise.
It was about 5 in the afternoon and my mother was folding laundry in the living room, and though I can't remember what I was doing at the time, I know my father was watching the World Series on television. A friend of his was over as well, someone I called 'Uncle Bob' for the simple fact that he is one of my father's best friends and someone who liked to carry me on his shoulders.
My baby sister was in her bassinet, close to my mother so she could be watched over. She was only a month and a half old at the time.
The next thing I remember is my mother making a comment, something along the lines of "oh, earthquake." I don't remember much shaking though now I know that it lasted for about 15 seconds. Though I was not yet knowledgeable in what to do, I do know I ended up under the dining room table and the rest of my family stood under the arch into the dining room. We still had a view of the living room television which had gone all fuzzy. My mom held my sister and my dad told me to stay under the table in case of aftershocks.
I'm not sure how long we stood there or, in my case, hid under the table. But eventually the door chimes stopped moving and I felt it was safe to venture out into the open.
I'm sure we watched the news all day once the stations were back on line, though I don't remember much of the aftermath. The last truly vivid memory I have of the event is seeing the collapsed upper deck section of the Bay Bridge and wondering why such a thing happened. At the time, I must have thought bridges were indestructible.
Bridges are a normal part of life in the San Francisco Bay Area. If you want to get anywhere at all in a reasonable amount of time, you have to drive over one.
So I think it was seeing a broken bridge and the crushed cars beneath it that began my fear of bridges. In later years, I would close my eyes whenever we went over one and had to have someone tell me when it was over.
Now, my fear has faded, through time and over-exposure. I commute over the double-decker Richmond bridge once a week. I like bridges now and I'm in love with the Golden Gate Bridge; I can never drive over it enough.
The only thing I dislike about bridges now is the toll. But I have to wonder, when the next big quake hits (for we all know that one surely will), will my fear of bridges resurface?
The answer is, I hope, simple. I will do everything to make sure that it does not become true.
