Arguing with Armstrong

"When are you gonna draw me a new story, Pap pap?"

"You know I'm retired, Mark. 81 is too old to keep drawing," I joked with a smile. This kid already knew he had me wrapped around his little finger.

"Please, Pap pap. Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"Oh all right," I said, grabbing my art kit. "Let's see what I can draw up for you. What kind of a story do you want?"

"I want the moon story," Mark said, looking up at me expectantly.

My heart sank. His father must have been telling those lies again. "Do you want aliens in your story?" I cajoled, trying to replace his fantasy with something a little more out there (and just as plausible if you ask me).

"No, Pap pap. You're silly. I want astronauts! Just like the real moon landing."

How could I say no? This is my grandson - and cute as a button I might add. I started my drawing despite my concerns. There would be time for that talk when he was older. Once he knows the facts, I'm sure he'll see what's what. I just hope it doesn't destroy him.

I quickly sketched out and colored in a few frames depicting the hoax I'd tried to bring to light not so long ago. I was careful to keep the details as true to the rigged photos as possible, right down to the U.S. flag waving in the nonexistent breeze. Mark seemed enthralled, though, especially when I inked the word "Armstrong" onto the astronaut's name tag. What a plain word. Armstrong. Like some caricature. I certainly wouldn't have chosen it for myself. To each their own, I guess.

When I was done, I slipped the artwork into a plastic sleeve and presented it to Mark, his eyes sparkling and his mouth set in a wide grin. "I'm going to hang this in my room, Pap pap. Right over my bed."

"All right now, boy, let's get some lunch. All that work has me hungry. How about you?"

"Yeah! I want a peanut butter sandwich." Lunch flew by with the rest of the afternoon, and by the time I knew it, there was a knock on the door letting me know Mark's father was here to pick him up.

Mark ran to the living room to pack up his toys, and I answered the door.

"Lawrence," my son-in-law said with a stiff nod. "Is Mark ready?"

"Just about. But I wanted to talk to you alone first." I gestured him to follow me into the study. "This whole moon landing business really needs to stop. Mark's only eight, and he doesn't need you filling his head with all these impossible dreams. He can make up his mind when he's older. Can't you just let him be a kid for now?" I knew my request was pointless, but I couldn't just stand by and let my grandson be brainwashed.

"Damnit, Lawrence! This is the reason we never want you to babysit. You're a conspiracy nut, and I don't want you influencing my son."

"It's just us, Neil, you don't have to pretend with me. I get that you're playing the part of some national hero to unite us against the Reds, but you don't have to lie to your son. He deserves better than that."

Neil closed his eyes and chuckled, his fists balled at his sides. "Listen old man, the moon landing happened. I know, I was there. Just because you can't wrap your brain around that doesn't mean you can diminish my accomplishments to my son."

"Okay, okay," I held up my hands in defeat. "Let's just agree to disagree." Despite the lies Neil told, he had the power to keep me from Mark, and that would hurt me more than playing along with this charade, so I conceded for now.

Mark ran into the room just then, waving his picture. "Daddy, look what Pap pap drew for me. It's you and Buzz and your spaceship on the moon. I'm gonna hang it in my room."

Neil glanced at the drawing and smiled down at his son. "That's wonderful, son. It looks just like the real thing."

I almost grimaced at that, but caught myself and grinned instead. "All right now, Mark, I'll see you again soon. Gimme a hug before you go."

Mark did as he was told, and I held him tight, hoping my spat with Neil wouldn't keep us apart.