I dreamed of being able to fly. I couldn't stop fantasizing about how I would fly like a great bird and survey the world beneath me. I imagined that I would be the next Eratosthenes, which I just learned about when I was in sixth grade, discovering that the Earth is round. After begging my father to buy the most expensive toy he ever owned, a remote-controlled plastic airplane, I, like many other kids, filled my satisfaction with the procession of pure dreaming: flying. The first time I flew he warned me that not all dreams have a happy ending: I drove the plane into acceleration crashing towards the side of the huge playground, into a tree. When everyone around me was shocked at my horrible skill, I ran towards the broken plane, finding that the right rope was broken as well as the wires. I picked him up slightly, carrying him back to the house. It was an embarrassing moment and I didn't realize that this was a moment that would lead me to success. It gave me the chance to keep trying. Working with my father's friend, who is a big fan of RC planes, playing "Real Flight", a simulator, to get a feel for real flying, I started to learn more...