I have a very early childhood memory of sitting inside a large cardboard box looking at my father’s arm as he pointed at the television. This memory has always seemed significant but I had never connected it to anything particularly important. In conversation with my parents many years later, we worked out that I actually remember the televised landing on the moon. I was only thirteen months old at the time. Why I have such an early memory is that my mother was screaming hysterically from the front door to a group of workmen on the street, inviting them to come and witness the event. I expect that hearing my mother’s raised voice activated some primal instinct that heightened my senses, making me completely aware of my surroundings in that moment. As the story goes the new fridge had come in the cardboard box so Dad had put the empty carton on its side in the lounge room for me to play in. Looking out from my cubby I had a direct view of the telly on its wooden legs, and partial view of the screen door and the lounge room. The workmen came in so I remember all these socks and boots. I remember Dad’s disembodied arm repeatedly gesturing to the telly, and him saying ‘look, look!’ I have a vague recollection of a grainy, abstract image, but I’m not sure if I have imagined that detail. This memory always appears to me in black and white.