Wife and I and my friend's family (re: 3 kids all under 8 years old) walked every inch of Walt's play land, and sometimes criss-crossed and doubled-back because of bathrooms and churros, all the while enjoying the wonderment in the eyes of our friends' kids (they're from Montana and I'm sure they don't get out to the real world much, so everything is looked on with eyes of wonderment). But when kids hop up and down like they just hammered back a 12-pack of Jolt Cola after catching a glimpse of Mickey strolling through the park, you realize its pure, unadulterate joy. I find myself wondering if I could ever match that enthusiasm and I'm not sure I could. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying at the birth of my own freeloader I won't be singing the "Hills are alive with the sounds of Melissa's" from the hospital's roof, but that's a different type of joy I imagine. Maybe joy isn't even the right word, awe might better. As in, I'll be in awe that Wife could grunt out a Melissa hooligan without shoving a catheder through my nose from the pain. (Memo to self, don't ask how she's doing during a mind-numbing scream.)
While the 3-year-old saw her life flash before her eyes during her inaguaral trip down the Matterhorn, the two older siblings kept saying, "These rides aren't scary enough." I agree with them, but the beauty of Disneyland isn't so much the ride, but the detail that's put into the ride. Sure, any dude with thick, horn-rimmed glasses and a degree in physics can design a roller coaster that will leave your legs wet; but when a ride can transport you into a lilfe-sized story from beginning to end, well, now, you're on to something.
Maybe Disney was right when he said on opening day:
"To all who come to this happy place – welcome. Disneyland is your land. Here age
relives fond memories of the past and here youth may savor the challenge and
promise of the future. Disneyland is dedicated to the ideas, dreams and the hard
facts that have created America… with the hope that it will be a source of joy
and inspiration to all the world."
I praised Magic Mountain for installing TVs that showed cartoons and TV show clips for the herds of human cattle waiting in line for the park's latest thrill-a-second ride. Disney puts that idea to shame. Disney transports you into that ride. You're a character in the ride's story the minute you waltz past the entrance.
Take Indiana Jones at Disneyland for example. We're heading down the stairs to board our jeep and I notice a half-domed ceiling above the loading dock with vines and bricks and such authenticity I nearly forgot I was on a ride. All I was missing was a whip and a fedora (if I were in the bedroom, those accessories would be readily available).
And I think that's what the kids get. They go into these rides as wide-eyed sponges soaking in the scenery and the tale unfolding around each jarring curve.
And just when you think the joy has ebbed with the fading California sun, when parents are struggling to get tired kiddies into the Suburban, begging them all to stay awake until they are settled in their Eddie Bauer car seats so Daddy wouldn't have to lift sleeping kid weight (which I'm certain weighs more than a bag of wet cement) there is one more surprise that Disney couldn't even recreate.
From the backseat, on the way back home, comes a quiet 3-year-old voice that smoothly parts the tired silence of adults:
"Daddy, can I go to sleep now?"
Top that Walt.
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