Monday, March 12, 2012

The Happiest Place on Earth


When I was five, my parents took me to Disneyland. Some of my memories of the trip are vague, others are vivid, all of them are happy. I still recall the vacation as an idyllic time for my family. In fact, it was the first time I remember feeling thoroughly happy, confident and surrounded by love in a way I was conscious about – I not only felt that way, but had some realization of how wonderful it was to feel what I was feeling.

As I mentioned, many of the memories from my first time at Disneyland are fuzzy – the kind of memories that are like snapshots; you’re never sure if your memory is of the experience itself or of the photo. I think I remember having my picture taken with Winnie the Pooh, but the memory is all about visuals – my red and white outfit, my pigtails, and me laughing. I remember how I looked, not how I felt, so perhaps the memory was constructed from seeing the photo again and again in my family photo album over the subsequent years.

My favorite memory of the trip – and one of my favorite memories of my life for that matter – isn’t of a Disney character or a ride or anything about the park. It’s a memory of playing with my dad in our hotel room. It was probably the first time I stayed in a hotel as opposed to a motel and it seemed pretty luxurious. (We did quite a bit of road trip traveling when I was a kid, but my mom and dad were definitely more Motel 6 and Travel Lodge than Hilton or Four Seasons.) So there we were in our fancy accommodations, and my parents must have really been in the vacation spirit because they were uncharacteristically letting me bounce on the beds and even jump back and forth between the two. Five year old bliss! Not one to sit on the sidelines, my dad was participating in the rough-housing and, at one point, “stole my nose.” He had me somewhat convinced that his thumb poking out between his first two fingers was, in fact, my nose, disconnected from my face. I may have been only five, but I was pretty sure I didn’t want to go through life without a nose, so I was frantically trying to get it back. I almost had it too . . . before he threw it out the window. This did not sit well with me and I made him go all the way out to the parking lot to retrieve it. I remember watching from our window and can still see him making his way out into the lot, pretending to pick up my nose and waving back up at me to signal that he had it. 

On the way back to the room, my dad stopped at the gift shop and got some Nerf balls. We may have already had one and he thought we needed more to really play with them properly. I’m not sure about that, but I do know it led to the most joyful, epic Nerf ball, bed-bouncing battle ever. Unlike the memory of having my picture taken with Winnie the Pooh, this memory is almost entirely about how I felt. I remember a blue Nerf ball and an orange one, and I remember how my dad looked, which despite the fact that he is now 35 years older, is exactly how I still see him today. The real content of the memory is the sense of being completely happy and present right there in the exact moment I was in – the feeling of thoroughly loving and being thoroughly loved.

With such good memories of my own childhood visit to Disneyland, I could hardly wait to take my son there. My husband, having grown up in Chicago, far away from any Disney land or world, had never been himself. While he certainly thought a trip to the Magic Kingdom sounded fun, he didn’t have the same childhood-memory-fueled drive to go that I did. As Chester’s fifth birthday came and went, I became increasingly adamant that we needed to make the trip while he was still at an age where it would be magical (although Disneyland has been magical to me at every age) and he would have an experience similar to mine, complete with dreamy memories. So, we finally did it. Budgets and logistics be damned, we headed to Disneyland over Chester’s mid-winter school break.

We took an early morning flight to LAX and by 10 a.m., were in our rental car heading for Anaheim. Everybody was excited to be on vacation and going to Disneyland, but one of us was definitely the most excited. (Here’s a hint – it wasn’t Chester or Matt.) By the time we checked into our hotel room overlooking the park, I could barely contain myself. Only because we were all starving did I consent to obtain lunch before we headed into the park.


The Happiest Mommy and Kiddo on Earth

Since our hotel had a direct entrance to California Adventure – the amusement park directly adjacent to Disneyland, which didn’t exist when I was a kid – we went there first. With no plan in mind, we wandered toward the giant rollercoaster – California Screamin’. Matt and I love rollercoasters, the line was short and Chester was tall enough to ride so we figured “why not?” The closer we got to the front of the line, the more we noticed there weren’t very many kids Chester’s age waiting to ride. By the time they secured us into our cars, I was a little nervous. Chester had been on little kid rollercoasters and loved those, but it occurred to me, as we shot out of the boarding station, that this was going to be more than a few steps up from kiddie coaster. I held Chester’s hand tightly and made lots of “yay, this is fun!” comments and noises as we sped through plunging drops, hairpin turns and a 360-degree loop. His little face was frozen in an expression halfway between terror and delight. As the ride ended, I hoped as hard as I could that we hadn’t traumatized him for the rest of the trip or even worse, for life. I kept the constant stream of “That was awesome! That was SO fun!” declarations coming as we exited, and Matt asked “What did you think, Chester? Was that fun?” He thought for a moment before cautiously answering, “Yeah, it was fun . . . scary fun!”

As it turns out, Chester is an extreme-ride rock star. He did California Screamin’ right out of the gate and didn’t stop there. He went on everything (an advantage of being a tall five year old) including Space Mountain, Thunder Mountain Railroad, Soarin’ Over California, and the Haunted Mansion. He even did the Tower of Terror, which is a repetitive free-fall, in the dark, with a horror/Twilight Zone theme. After it was over, he said, “Mommy, I think I want to be a little bit older next time I go on that one.” Apparently “a little bit older” meant two days older because that’s when he decided he wanted to go on it with me again rather than wait with daddy. The only thing that scared him so much he didn’t want to go near it again was Sleeping Beauty’s castle, which makes sense when you know Maleficent lurks inside. Who doesn’t she scare, turning into a dragon and summoning “all the powers of hell?”

After our California Screamin’ rollercoaster trial by fire, we proceeded to “A Bug’s Land” which is an area actually designed for small children. Chester enjoyed the familiar Pixar and Disney themes throughout the parks and liked all the rides, but he never did take to the costumed characters. He was mildly interested when Buzz Lightyear strolled by or when we pointed out Mickey Mouse, but if we suggested meeting them, getting their autographs or, God forbid, being photographed with them, he informed us, in no uncertain terms “THAT is for babies.” Fair enough.

His favorite ride was Splash Mountain – the Brer Rabbit-themed log ride with an enormous plunging, splashing drop coupled with woodland critters singing Zipadeedoodah. We rode Splash Mountain four or five times and, with each consecutive ride, Chester became more of an expert and served as the “tour guide” for our log, telling other riders what was coming up: “OK, there’s going to be a drop, but this isn’t a big one, this is just a baby one,” and when to prepare for the big drop: “Yeah, OK, this is the big one, here it comes, we’re going to get weeeeettttt!” Fortunately, everyone seemed to agree that his commentary was cuter than it was annoying.

We even had the unique experience of getting stuck on Splash Mountain when it broke down one afternoon. We sat in our log, enjoying the sunny day, listening to “cast members” tell us our ride was experiencing some “log jams” and “should continue shortly” for about fifteen minutes. Finally it did, but only for a minute or two. Our second “log jam” occurred inside the mountain, surrounded by singing, animatronic characters. When the singing stopped and the lights came on, we knew the ride was over, and sure enough, a “cast member” came along to escort us out of our logs. It was fantastic to walk through the mountain, amongst the Brer Rabbits, Bears, and Foxes, frozen mid-doodah. We took every opportunity to discreetly pet the animals and see how everything worked. It was like having our very own behind-the-scenes-exclusive tour of Splash Mountain, followed by a nice apology and a “fast past” to come back later. 

The underbelly of Disneyland fun is, of course, Disneyland fatigue. Long days of walking and standing in line definitely leave your dogs barking; and by dogs barking I mean feet aching. Apparently a common saying in Matt’s Chicago up-bringing, “my dogs are barking” was a phrase I had never heard before. I thought it was pretty funny when I first heard it and Chester thinks it’s hilarious. One night, after letting him stay up way past his normal bed time to go swimming after an already very long day, we climbed into bed complaining about our “barking dogs” – complete with canine sound effects. I’m not sure who got the giggles first but Chester and I couldn’t stop laughing. Just about the time we would start to calm down and drift off to sleep, somebody would burst out laughing again, or barking, or both.

Disney Fatigue

So, our days at Disneyland became filled with making jokes about “barking dogs” and creating elaborate strategies to take advantage of opportunities to rest them. Chester began asking us to take turns holding him in particularly long lines – “I’ve got to save my dogs!” he would plead. One evening, he was so exhausted that he fell asleep in Matt’s arms waiting in line for the interactive Toy Story ride – one of his other favorites. It truly is a cool ride and, consequently, always had one of the longest lines. Everyone around us was completely smitten by how sweet he looked, snoozing peacefully. The only thing more adorable was watching him wake up to discover he was, “like magic,” at the front of the line.

The trip was definitely all I hoped for. We had a great time and came home with lots of happy memories. I can’t help but wonder what Chester will remember many years later – the “scary fun” rollercoaster, his Splash Mountain adventures, the magic of falling asleep and waking up in the front of the line, or the late night hotel room giggling? I don’t think I can pick a favorite memory – I love and will remember them all. I do have a favorite souvenir though – it’s one I got after we returned home. When I arrived to pick Chester up from school after his first day back, he handed me a piece of paper, all folded up and taped tightly. I carefully opened it and slowly read his “best guess” spelled note. It took some deciphering but I figured out what it said with his help:


I love you with all my heart. Thank you for bringing me to Disneyland.
Chester

He pointed to the bottom of the page, where he had drawn three hearts – a big one, a medium one and a small one – all with smiling faces. “That’s us,” he said proudly. I hugged him tight, kissed the top of his head, closed my eyes, and silently expressed profound gratitude for my beautiful son, my family, and our successful trip to “The Happiest Place on Earth.”

Speaking of gratitude, I don’t know if I ever thanked my parents for my five-year-old Disneyland trip as wonderfully as Chester thanked us. In case I didn’t, and even if I did, it certainly bears repeating . . .

Mom and Daddy, I love you with all my heart. Thank you for bringing me to Disneyland.
Ronda