Sleeping Beauty Castle at Disneyland Resort, Anaheim CA, courtesy Wikipedia Commons.
Magic Kingdom brings out the kid within
Outrageous prices, long lines, and theme park feet aside, taking a child to Disneyland for the first time is still an E-ticket ride. While my 5-year-old son Koss is a seasoned Disney veteran, his cousin Jordan recently celebrated her fourth birthday with Mickey and friends at what was, for her, truly the happiest place on earth.
Of course my brother-in-law, Brian, would have rather had a root canal — but some people don’t recognize fun even when it’s screaming in their ear.
I, on the other hand, love Disneyland with an almost geek-like passion. My fervor would be more than “almost geek-like” if I were talking about vanilla lattes or Chuck’s Mai Tais, but with mouse-maniacs rivaled only by trekkies in their fanaticism, my enthusiasm is relatively tame.
Sure, I make my family wear the same color shirts when we go there, but it’s not like we have “Dinaberg Family Disneyland Trip” t-shirts printed up like the Densmore family did, and it’s not like we’ve fashioned our old curtains into Butterick Pattern Nos. 1187-1199 like the Von Trapp family. No, that would be ridiculous. At least, not until after I finish my sewing class.
My obsession certainly doesn’t reach the heights of the Krock’s, who created a website about “the happiest potties on earth” (www.mouseplanet.com/potties/). While it’s a truly brilliant site, and would have been useful when Koss was a baby and I gracefully managed to spill an entire strawberry slushie on his tushie and then used the very last diaper in all of Disneyland to clean him off, I’m not that obsessive.
Still, my heart starts thumping a little faster as we pull into the lot, and it’s not just because of the $37 parking fee — I love Disneyland.
I’m probably the only person to have enjoyed visiting Walt Disney World and Epcot Center solo, on more than one occasion. (OK, so I was there on business, but I still bought — and wore — the mouse ears.)
I couldn’t help reflect on how well my son and his cousin Lauren would have fit in at Tokyo Disneyland where all sense of personal space is eclipsed by a strange need to fit as many people in as small a space as possible. I know that Disneyland can sometimes feel like the most peopled place on earth, but trust me, anywhere in the U.S. would feel spacious in comparison to Tokyo Disneyland.
I bet Brian’s head would explode if we made him go there.
Jordan’s eyes turned to saucers as she watched the teacups spin. New things come and go in the real world with alarming frequency, but everything in Fantasyland is just where I left it when I was 4. I can almost see my lip print on Dumbo’s ear and my Grandpa Alex’s belly jiggling as he danced along with the birds in the “Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Room,” and just about hear my dad singing “It’s a Small World After All.” Oh — never mind. That really is my dad singing “It’s a Small World After All.” Some things you don’t have to remember, you can just relive them over and over again. Like, “It’s a small world after all, it’s a small world….” I must stop now.
One of the greatest things about being a parent is getting to re-experience magic through the eyes of a child. Watching their responses was often more entertaining than whatever it was they were watching. Lauren wanted to dance with the prince in the “Snow White” stage show, Jordan tried to pick a fight with some of the pirates in the Caribbean, and Koss believed that Buzz Lightyear remembered him from their last hug and photo op.
I guess it is a small world after all. It’s a small world after all. It’s a small, small…No! Stop it!
It certainly feels like a small world when a woman I don’t recognize spots me in line and asks me, “Are we going to read about this in the Beacon?” I’m not sure whether to feel flattered to get recognized or guilty because she busted me for taking my son out of school.
“It’s my sister’s fault,” I want to say. “She didn’t want to fight crowds on a weekend.” And really what I mean, if you’re reading this and you happen to be the principal at Vieja Valley, is that he was very sick that day with a fever of 112. Or, at least a massive stomachache from all the $12 boxes of popcorn that grandma bought him.
Jordan’s chubby little legs bounce along to the Lion King’s “Hakuna Matata,” landing her on her rump every so often. She laughs out loud just because she’s 4 and in her world this is nothing short of nirvana. Even Brian cracks a smile, and I feel grateful to have a glimpse back to feeling that way.
Though my theme park feet are asleep after the long drive home, and I’m too tired to wash the theme park film (saturated fat, sunscreen, sweat and spilled sugar) off my body, laying in my own somewhat lumpy bed next to my own somewhat grumpy husband is actually the happiest place on earth.