50 years ago tonight I was 3 years and 13 days old. One of my oldest memories is from then...

I remember going with my dad to pick my mother up from work. She had gone into labor with my brother. 

We were living on the Nashville Highway just southeast of Tawzierville at the time in an old turn of the century wooden house with 12 foot ceilings. 

Fast forward about a week. 

It was late. As a 3 year old, I had no true concept of time. I just knew that it was past my bed time. 

My mother and dad were laying in their bed watching a black and white television with maybe an 18 inch screen. 

We watched a guy,  who I found out much later was Neil Armstrong, crawl down a ladder onto the surface of the moon. 

I'm sure that I didn't have the words for it at the time, but somehow I realized in my very young mind that this was important. 

When Armstrong was coming down the ladder I found a wooden clothes rack and decided that was my ladder and went to climb it. 

My "ladder" broke. I bit my tongue. I cried disrupting the whole event. I don't remember anything after that so I probably just went to sleep. 

People say the moon landing didn't happen. People say that it did. I've heard arguments and seen documentaries supporting both sides. 

I don't care. People tend to believe what they choose to. 

I just see this event as being on the gray edge of memory and the point from which everything else radiates.