July 20, 1969

I was four years old. Being four, I went to bed early, probably around 7pm, having spent a full day exhausting myself with te games four years olds fill their days with during the long summers.

It wasn’t exactly the noise that wakened me, since there wasn’t any real noise. It was more a murmuring, the kind of quiet conversation that alerts children to the presence of adults.

What was unusual was the amount of it. There shouldn’t be so many voices in our house in the middle of the night. I went to investigate.

The room was full of people. To my four year old mind it seemed like half the parish had dropped by.

In the corner, the television was on, and everyone was watching. I had a look, but it wasn’t an All Ireland final, the only reason I’d ever known why so many people would sit down to watch television at the same time.

‘What’s happening?’ I asked.

‘Look! There’s a man on the moon.’

‘Sure I know that.’

It’s hard to feel a sense of wonder when you’re four. The world is so full of wonder, the really amazing things don’t stand out at all.

Published by Gerard Cunningham

Gerard Cunningham occupies his time working as a journalist, writer, sub-editor, blogger and tweeter, yet still finds himself underemployed. Go figure.

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