A Disney Disaster

 

My youngest son is thinking about taking his girls to Disney. At last!  I have waited patiently for years for him to have children and take them to the land of the mouse. Finally, revenge will be mine. 

I’ve been to Disney a couple of times, but it’s been a little while.  And from what I hear, a lot of things have changed. They like to call it the Magic Kingdom now.  That’s an appropriate name. It’s magic all right.  Once you get inside the gates hundreds of dollars start vanishing into thin air. Now you wear a wrist band to pay for everything so you don’t even realize that you’re near bankruptcy until you get back to the hotel room. 

I’m not a big conspiracy theory guy, but I do believe that Disney is part of a plot our enemies have created to destroy the very fiber of the American family. Let me explain: they have so much stuff to do at those parks that you can’t see it all unless you stay a month and spend about half a million dollars. But Dad will try to do it in 4 days because he saw some video that explained how easy it is.  As a result, so many first-time Disney Fathers will say, “Hey kids! The park opens at 8:30 - we’ll get there at 8. And guess what?  It  closes at 11 - and we’re staying  ‘til 11!”

What are they thinking?  Common sense should tell you that mixing adrenaline, too much sugar, over stimulation, exhaustion, and time pressure will create the perfect recipe for whiny, tired kids and angry parents.  

If you want some cheap entertainment at Disney, find a bench near “It’s a Small World” about 6 PM.  Then you can sit  back and watch entire families snapping like branches in an ice storm. 

You’ll hear Dads yelling things at their kids that are so hateful that it would merit a home visit from DHR.  Things like:

“Will you stop that crying and have a good time?!”

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll whip your butt right in front of Mickey Mouse!”

“Keep on whining and I promise, we will go back to the hotel, pack up, and drive straight home!  You think I won’t?  Just try me! 

Don’t kid yourself.  This is right out of Putin’s playbook to destroy America, comrade. 

Of course, I know all about this because I said every one of those things.  I screwed up more times than I can count on my first trip to Disney. It began with day one.  Not only did I drive almost 12 hours with three kids and a wife, but as soon as we arrived at our hotel, I made an idiotic decision to head straight to the park for about 5 hours. Brilliant. 

By 10:45 total family exhaustion had set in, especially with my 4 year old son, Brad.  He was nothing but a raw nerve in a Nike T shirt.  He began to cry non stop. Nothing we could do or say would make him quit.  And I’ll own it: my fault, not his.  Taking 3 children to Disney right after a 12 hour van ride is a decision that ranks right up there with Hitler invading Russia during World War Two. 

We made our way towards the exit, trying to ignore all the people who were staring at us and undoubtedly passing judgement on our parenting skills. Looking back, it was probably justified.  On the tram back to the parking lots we sat in the very back so we could minimize the number of people exposed to this caterwauling.  By now Brad was wailing so loud and so long it sounded like we were in an ambulance.  

Finally, we returned to our van. It’s amazing how you remember certain little things about events that happen in your life. For example, on that day I clearly recall looking down and noticing that the Disney parking lot was spotless.  Why was I looking down?  Because after the tram dropped us off, my son sprawled out on the pavement, screaming and kicking in an uncontrollable frenzy.  He would’ve made less noise if we had run over him - and I was seriously thinking about that. 

Of course my wife, always a person of action, pointed at this Tasmanian Devil Child, looked at me and said,”Well, aren’t you going to do something?”

“Yes, I sure am. I know exactly what I’m gonna do.”

With calm deliberation,I took out our video camera, turned it on, and recorded the rest of this tantrum on asphalt until it ended - which was almost another 10 minutes, by the way. 

When we got home, I put that VCR  tape in a very special place. I knew I was going to use it sometime later in my life. It has made it through several moves over several years.  I doubt Brad remembers I have it.  That’s good.   It will work better that way. 

Because soon, very soon, when he’s just about ready to take that big family trip, I’ll invite all them over, and have them gather in front of my PC. Then I’ll tell my grandkids,” Don’t you worry if your Daddy gets mad at you down there.” I’ll turn on that video I made of him so long ago and say, “ ‘Cause this is what he looked like when he went to Disney.”

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.  It’s time for me to meet a guy who knows how to digitize old VHS tapes. 

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