On tantrums and magic: Disney World

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As our plane touched down in Orlando this past Monday, I turned to my neighboring passenger.

“We’re here, Amelia!” I announced in an attempt to generate the same enthusiasm and excitement I was feeling.

As Amelia took in the non-descript tarmac and neighboring planes outside her window, however, her four year old brain seemed to be processing the fact that neither Mickey Mouse nor Queen Elsa were anywhere in sight.

“Uhhh. No we’re not,” she retorted, having realized that we didn’t land directly in the Magic Kingdom.

One row up sat Kohl who, like Amelia, was on his maiden voyage to the happiest place on Earth.

“Kohl, we’re in Disney,” I said.

Kohl was born seven years ago with severe, global brain damage, so he only has a few words in his arsenal that he somewhat dickishly uses at times of his choosing. This was not one of those times.

Instead, his sister spoke for him, repeating her earlier refrain, this time with more vigor.

“No we are NOT in Disney,” she said.

We then deplaned and began our trek to the Magic Express.

“Is this in a different fucking zip code,” asked Reuben whose 73-year-old legs were getting tired of walking already – a foreboding sign on a trip that would feature miles of walking in the days ahead.

A few minutes later, however, while finally aboard the magical express and en route to our hotel, those initial frustrations started to dissipate. The scowl that so frequently decorates Reuben’s face began to give way to a quasi-smile and the old timer started cracking some jokes. Kohl started laughing and smiling. Amelia started playing with her Aunt Mary Beth before finally passing out for a nap.

The ensuing days would follow that same pattern – moments of magic nestled between epic meltdowns … from both kids and adults.

Reuben and Mary Ann, being very set in their ways, would get understandably upset when a reservation made months ago for a character breakfast still resulted in a 15-minute wait.

“What’s the point of making a fucking reservation then,” Reuben would ask rhetorically.

But then they would smile like children when they got their pictures taken with Pluto and Daisy.

One minute, Amelia would go on a hanger-fueled rampage and make mean comments.

“Disney is no longer fun, I want to go home,” she would say on day three of five.

The next minute (usually after feasting on some Mac and Cheese), she would sprint around the patterned carpets of the hotel, light up with sheer joy at meeting her favorite princess or tell us that her favorite part of the trip was getting to spend it with her family which she “loves with all of [her] heart.”

The moments of magic also featured a handful of surprises.

Reuben is a medical doctor and an expert in radiology. He is also a WWII buff who knows more about military aviation of that era than anyone I know. He threw us all a curve ball though when he demonstrated a love and an encyclopedic knowledge of Mary Poppins. I don’t know who was more surprised – his family – or our lovely, British waitress to whom Reuben slung an array of Poppins factoids, assuming that because she hailed from the UK, she too shared his enthusiasm for the world’s favorite nanny.

Then at an exorbitantly expensive “Princess lunch” at Epcot’s Norway, Amelia was understandably aglow and star struck when getting to meet Cinderella, Snow White and Ariel. But it was Kohl who surprised us all when he flashed the biggest, most tear-inducing smile for Aurora – Sleeping Beauty.

The moment filled us all with momentary tears of joy, and I think it caught Aurora herself a little off guard.

—

When the trip came to a close, we found ourselves once again in the Magic Express, headed back to the airport. And I – a grown man of 38 years – found myself in tears.

What the hell is wrong with me, I wondered.

For one, being at Disney was totally nostalgic. The sights and even the smells immediately transported me back to a happy childhood in which I wanted for nothing.

This, in turn, brought brief moments of intense sadness because being at Disney reminded me of a much easier and simpler time. Allison, my big sister, who we spent so many special moments here with, is no longer with us. Cancer took her away from us way too early. There are moments when her absence from this world stings especially bad, and this was one of them. She would have LOVED this trip.

Reuben and Mary Ann – my parents – who undoubtedly paid a fortune bringing us here year after year, are now much older and cannot do nearly as much as they once could. Having witnessed the deep grief of friends that have endured losing a parent made me worry about my own peeps. Opportunities like this trip are so unique and may never happen again.

And finally, having a severely disabled child in a place where thousands of healthy, able-bodied kids are having the time of their lives hurts. Watching their experiences compared to Kohl’s was another reminder of how many of childhood’s joyous moments that Kohl has been robbed of.

But then those thoughts thankfully dissipate and are supplanted with better ones. Like the fact that Allison was undoubtedly smiling down on us all reliving our childhoods as Kohl and Amelia take it all in for the first time. And Reuben and Mary Ann had their own fun at their own slow and elderly pace. As for whether this will happen again, I really hope so, but in the meantime it was just nice to have them here. And that’s enough.

Lastly, from Kohl’s perspective (the only one that matters), he hasn’t been robbed of anything. He experienced this trip in his own way, and it was overwhelmingly positive. From the facilities to the attention to detail of all of Disney’s “cast members,” in accommodating handicapped guests, Disney World now clearly holds a special place in Kohl’s heart even though he may not yet be able to express that to us. And despite the early challenges of his and his sister’s childhood, I want them to experience as much magic as possible. Because that’s what it’s all about.

Until next year, Mickey.