SI was half the time, I took the boy for this day. My choice was Planetarium at the Royal Greenwich Observatory, which increases my loved ones: space and having to cross every London, with a six -year -old haller, twice in the wet afternoon. Our journey includes two buses, pipes and more than 20 minutes of walking on my side. The time was, that all these different patterns of transportation would be a great advantage for my son, who used to darker and joy with the arrival of trains and screaming in ferrying joy in every bus driver. While complaining about the time it takes, I first realize that these worldly pleasures in the daily world have left him. No wonder, I think that with the terrible Lachrymosity, he has his eyes on the stars.
Being a six -year -old child, he is full of questions. We have assumed that he would get some time with Boffins Space, ready and keen to answer any inquiries from astronomers 4 feet in training. It is just for my son to insist that he will be keen to learn something from him. While we take our seats on the tube, it sets its Prolix plan: a group of 14 questions classified in four distinctive chapters; 4 x easy, 4 x medium, 4 x solid, and 2 x extremists.
“This may be somewhat ambitious,” he told him, while he also kindly indicates that the object should have to learn something, not to capture scientists. We deal with its list to three questions about the moderately escalating complexity.
The passenger colleague monitors this impressive discussion and I feel that this reflects the glow of the pride that I get when anyone testifies that my son is smart in public places. Unfortunately, it attracts his attention while in a complete flow and is absorbed into the jar beam. “Will you go to the heavenly dome,” asks. “No,” a muffled laugh, “I will see my granddaughter.” “Oh,” how old are you? “It is just the opening of the opening in a bruising cannon from the questions, covering its life, the possibility of death, and inevitably, the spread of asteroids. It ends only when it starts at the next station – which I bet any money, not its original destination.
When we reach, we have a quick bite and we go to the atrium, where there are no pictures of the planets, but the Earth’s pictures themselves, from space. Any fears I may have about this part of the wrong ads are canceled when I see his enthusiasm, not the least when he discovers a satellite snapshot for Ireland and insists on sending a picture of her to Nana. Then we take our seats in the hall and get a tour with guides across the universe, who is expected in an amazing way in the roofing ceiling above. My son is an assistant, even more than that when the lights appear and a friendly young physicist announces that it will take any questions we have.
He determines from his seat like a court correspondent and makes sure that he is the first of there. “Well, this is a difficult question,” he says.
“This is good,” she responds, “I will do my best to answer it for you.”
He says, “Oh, you must do so, his time comes last, but good luck, anyway,” he says.