July 20, 1969

I remember it happened in the middle of the day. I remember all of a sudden the focus of attention was centered on the black and white TV we had in our apartment in Avenida Amsterdam in Colonia Condesa, Mexico City, Planet Earth. I remember my Mom being especially agitated, in a good way, and moved by the talent of the Americans, who could nail such a feat with precision and grace. We all sat down to watch TV in the middle of the day. The morning? 1 pm?
Who were we all? My mom, probably my baby sister Vili, who was 9 months old and seemed to have come from the moon herself (a sunny, ever smiling moonchild), probably our dear muchacha Lupe (the maid), maybe my tía Dora? My dad, either not going to work that day or coming home early to watch with us? I don't remember. I don't think my dad was overly impressed with the event. That is, I'm sure he was impressed but perhaps not convinced by its significance. I may be wrong, but this is my hunch.
My memory from 40 years ago is that we sat on the couch in front of the TV as if it was a talismanic object and there were black and white men talking to us in eloquent tones and then I think we saw astronauts bouncing and putting the American flag on the moon, which, strangely, did not sway in the breeze like flags tend to do. What I remember best is my mother, emotional, trying to convey to me, a 6 year old child, that this remarkable event needed to be pondered and admired and as a moment to remember in history, that I should not really expect this to happen on a daily basis from now on. But who knew? Who knew what could happen now that men could walk on the moon.