On a sunny Sunday afternoon, Zeke and I rushed out of town to Evansville’s Museum of Art, History, and Science. I happen to like them all, and Zeke especially loves science. I keep all sorts of cool stuff in my house for him to explore during his occasional visits. With a solid brick embedded in it, he painstakingly chiseled it out with a plastic chisel. He doesn’t know it yet, but the next visit will involve dissecting the frog (don’t worry, it’s a frog-shaped plastic skeleton and organs encased in gel).

But we were both out on a road trip during that time.

We arrived shortly after the doors opened and headed first to the welcome booth to purchase wristbands to attend a show at the planetarium later in the afternoon.

Then we moved to the Hands-on Science Area. Here Zeke jumped from one activity to the next. “You can touch anything unless you tell me otherwise,” I told him.

There were cloud machines that asked young visitors to flap their hands through the atmosphere to see how the fog swirled in response. There was a prism, a spectrum.

Zeke loved the wind tunnel the most. Especially when he discovered odds and ends tables for handicrafts such as paper plates, tissues, and pipe cleaners, which inspired us to create our own devices and slip them into tubes. confirmed. how high they fly Zeke let out a glee as our parachute pulled away from his hand, then flapped the top of the tube and slowly floated to where he was waiting to catch it.

“Can I do this?” he asked occasionally, jumping to another display.

“Go ahead,” I replied. “Let me know if you have any questions or need help.”

He didn’t need either, but he would occasionally provide a little bit of information anyway, such as when he hit a string of plastic tubes with a rubber paddle.

“Notice how big fat tubes sound different than small thin tubes,” I suggested. “This is an example of how sound waves work.”

When I walked into the art gallery on the second floor, I thought it was interesting, but Zeke quickly decided it was boring. But when I explained that this was a “still life” exhibition, he listened attentively.

“I know,” he told me. “bored.”

He was a little rejuvenated by exhibitions of crafts from around the world, and was particularly interested in large, intricately designed relics made entirely of clay. He stared for a long time, while Zeke made mental notes on how to recreate such a design the next time he got about a ton of Play-Doh. I could see the wheels spinning in my head.

Next, we headed to the railway exhibition. We weren’t sure how much Zeke would like it, but it was a hit. In particular, a model railroad exhibit filled with miniature his replicas of historic buildings from Evansville’s past. We saw vintage fire trucks, horseless carriages and buggies.

I pointed out an old hearse. “That’s what they used to bring dead people to the cemetery,” I said.

Jake sneered. “No, that’s what vampires ride.”

There is also a real train, and our guide assured us that it certainly was, that we were welcome to board and explore the car. , trees, signs, people). Impressed by the spectacular display he had just seen, Sieg settled into the booth and began designing and building his own work. Then the two of us each picked his two trains and drove around his tracks.

It’s time for the planetarium show. I let him pick the features he wanted to see. I would have preferred something about stars and space, but he chose “Dawn of the Dinosaurs”, so it was dinosaurs.

After spending 5 hours with my child, my child begged to stay longer, but unfortunately the employee was waiting to lock the door. .

We talked about our adventures until we got home. “What’s your favorite?” I asked.

he shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied, but the vague response didn’t bother me at all. With so many great experiences, how can you choose your favorite?

Zeke didn’t ask me about my favorite time of the day.

Any grandparent reading this story already knows what I said.