I wrote this nine years ago, but it’s a piece I’ve always been proud of. Happy anniversary.
Forty-one years ago today, I was almost four years old, and men walked on the moon.
I had gone to bed already, but my parents woke me up for the occasion. It was nearly ten o’clock, Nashville time, but my parents and I sat on a black leatherette sofa bed, watching the television in the corner of our living room. Dad was 26; Mom was 25, ages that now I still see as being a kid in our ever expanding adolescence, but that then seemed impossibly grown-up. It was our first house, in a working-class neighborhood near Dad’s office and the drugstore where he bought his science fiction paperbacks and the comic books we’d both read. And we knew that we were watching the stuff we had read about in those books and comics, but that now it was real, and it was adventure, and even if we weren’t there…
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