On July 20, 1969, my father made me come inside from playing baseball in the front yard to watch the moon landing. I was not happy. Baseball was more important. Of course, ever since I’ve been grateful for his insistence. Last night, at about 11:20 Arizona time, my son — seemingly lost inside the internet, as usual — said, “Dad, you should come over here and watch this.” I sat with my father’s grandson and “watched” us (virtually) land on Mars, the second time in my life a loved one has forced me to witness the amazing.