All I had to say was “Let’s go!” and Zeke was ready to go.
This is because I “got” Zeka, figuratively speaking, which means I know what she likes. The good news is that I like these things too – and every once in a while, his parents are happy to let me take Zeke literally for a few hours.
So one bright Sunday afternoon, Zeke and I headed out of town to the Evansville Museum of Arts, History and Science. I love all of those things, and Zeke especially loves science. I keep all kinds of cute things in my house for him to explore during his occasional visits. A recent success was a solid brick embedded with all manner of clean rock and other archaeological finds, which he patiently chipped away with a plastic chisel. He doesn’t know it yet, but his next visit will involve dissecting a frog (don’t worry, it’s just a plastic skeleton and organs encased in a frog-shaped gel).
But in the meantime, we were both ready for a ride.
We arrived shortly after the doors opened and zipped first to the welcome booth to buy wristbands to catch a show at the planetarium later in the afternoon.
Then it was off to the hands-on science area, where Zeke ricocheted from one activity to another. “Unless I tell you otherwise, you can touch anything you want,” I told him, and that was all the encouragement he needed.
There was the cloud machine that all but begged new visitors to clap their hands through the atmosphere to watch the fog swirl in response. There were magnets, microscopes, sound waves, infinity mirrors, electricity, prisms and spectra.
Zeke loved the wind tunnels the most, especially when he discovered an odds and ends board of craft supplies—paper plates, beans, pipe cleaners, and more—that invited us to build our own devices, which we then tucked inside a tube to see how high they would fly. Zeke squealed in delight as our parachute was removed from his hand, then flew off the top of the tube and gently floated down to where he expected to catch it.
“Can I do this?” he would ask from time to time, looking over another screen.
“Get over it,” I replied. “Let me know if you have any questions or need help.”
He never needed either, but occasionally I still offered a bit of information, such as when he hit a series of plastic tubes with a rubber paddle.
“Notice how the big fat pipes sound different than the skinny little pipes,” I suggested. “This is an example of how sound waves work.”
We went upstairs to the art gallery, which I would have found interesting, but which Zeke quickly identified as “boring”. But he listened politely as I explained that this was an exhibition of “dead luck” paintings, which meant there were no people or animals in the picture, only things standing still.
“I know,” he told me. “Boring.”
He got a little excited at an exhibit of artifacts from around the world and was particularly interested in a large, intricately designed relic made entirely of clay. He stared intently for a long time and I could see the wheels turning in his head as Zeke made mental notes on how to recreate such a design the next time he got his hands on about a ton of Play-Doh.
Then we went to the train exhibit. I wasn’t sure how much Zeke would like it, but it turned out to be a huge hit – especially the model train display filled with miniature replicas of historic buildings from Evansville’s past. We looked at old fire trucks and horseless carriages and buggies.
I pointed out an old car. “That’s what they used to take the dead to the cemetery,” I said.
Zeke scoffed. “No, that’s what vampires ride.”
There was also a real train and the guide assured us that indeed, we were welcome to climb aboard and explore the cars. One of the cars had a wooden train set – tracks, cars, trees, signs and people. Inspired by the magnificent display we had just witnessed, Zeke settled into the booth and began designing and building his creation. Then the two of us each picked a few train cars and raced them around his track.
Now it was time for the planetarium show. I had let him choose which of the features he wanted to see. I would have preferred something about the stars and the universe, but he chose Dawn of the Dinosaurs, so dinos it was.
You know it’s been a successful day when you spend five hours in one place with a child and he begs to stay longer, but alas, the staff were standing by to close the doors as we finally left, albeit with a promise that we would return again soon.
We talked about our adventure all the way home. “Which was your favorite?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied, but that non-specific answer didn’t bother me at all. How can one choose a favorite from so many wonderful experiences?
Zeke didn’t ask me about my favorite part of the day, and that’s okay too.
Any grandparent reading this story already knows what I would have said.