Inktober 20: #Frost
In which I interview Neil Armstrong
When I was in 4th grade I did a school project called a “birthday box.” I had to research facts about my birthday, such as my birthstone (peridot) and how my birth month got its name (August was named for Augustus Caesar, who stole a day or two from February to pad his month out to 31 days). But the centerpiece of the birthday box was a creative account of an historical event that was happening when I was born
On the day I was born, the astronauts had just gotten back from the moon. My parents actually considered naming me Neil, after moon-walker Neil Armstrong.They went with Jonathan instead, which isn’t a terrible name, but for a fourth-grader, it doesn’t have nearly the caché of an astronaut name. There was a boy in my neighborhood named Blaine Woody, a name of which I was especially jealous, since it was the platonic ideal of a cowboy name. He moved away, so I lost track of him, but I assume he is now a retired rodeo champion.
If I had been named Neil Armstrong Rogers, like I was supposed to be, I wouldn’t have had to take a back seat even to Blaine Woody. “Nice horse, Blaine,” I would say. “Check out my rocket ship.” But, alas, Jonathan sounded more like the name of a poet—and not even a cowboy poet.
Anyway, I had to do something creative about the astronauts of Apollo 11 for my birthday box. It was my dad, actually, who had the inspiration for this part of the project. He suggested that we record a cassette tape of a David #Frost-style interview in which an interviewer, played by me, would interview Neil Armstrong, played by him. I would have preferred to be Neil Armstrong myself, but since it was my dad’s idea, he got to be the casting director. Also the writer. He composed questions for me to read (he ad-libbed his own lines). I can’t tell you how much this was unlike my father. But he was absolutely into this project.
I don’t remember any of my interview questions or any of Neil Armstrong’s answers, except that the last question was about the future of space travel. I don’t remember what my astronaut-father thought about the future, but at one point he spoke this sentence:
“And I, for one, believe it shall be.”
I gasped. I almost dropped my microphone. I thought that was the best sentence I had ever heard in my life. I was astonished that my own father was able to utter such a perfectly formed sentence–a line of poetry, really–and off the top of his head! “And I, for one, believe it shall be.” I don’t know when I had ever been so proud of him.
Neil Armstrong showed me that day that there is more than one way to soar to amazing heights.