On this, the 50th anniversary of the moon landing

Forty-seven years ago, my brother Steve was born. It wasn't quite as spectacular as the moon landing had been three years earlier, but we lived it up all the same.

 The ceremonies began as my brother Bill chased me around the house so that I ran headfirst into a wall and started bleeding profusely. The babysitter, who had anticipated a quiet night, began screaming and called her mother. An ambulance soon was summoned, and I was rushed to the hospital.

 As the festivities spread, my dad soon after excused himself from my mother's side in the neonatal unit and went to check on me. I was admitted and given several stitches to my forehead, all unknown to my mother, who was preoccupied with a newborn.

 Back home as they lay in bed in the darkness amid the glow of the evening's activities, Blair leaned over and whispered to Bill, "David's dead. You killed him."

 I hope this, the 50th anniversary of Neil Armstrong's first steps on the moon, is a memorable one for you and your whole family.