Disney doesn't 'measure up' for Sam

I have vivid childhood memories for a family vacation I never took.

My parents, clearly under the influence of some kind of judgment-altering drugs, loaded all seven of their kids in a station wagon with bald tires and pulled a pop-up camper out to California for a month-long tour of the West Coast. The year was 1967 and I was “just a twinkle in their eyes,” as my dad always said.

I remember this trip as if I was there only because I had to watch and re-watch it on 8 mm home movies throughout my childhood. The two favorite clips featured my siblings riding the tea cups at Disneyland and a large hippo at a zoo relieving himself in a pond. We never tired of watching that bowel movement and played it over and over, forwards, backwards and in slow-motion.

I was indignant throughout my childhood that my parents took that trip without me. Looking back, I’m struck by the fact that this “trip not taken” even registers in my childhood memories. Of all the sacrifices my parents made and blessings I received as a result, why do I remember this?

It illustrates one of the most unjust aspects of parenting. We can work so hard and do so many things right, but ultimately we have no control over the things that our kids will most remember or be influenced by.

I’m remembering this because we recently returned from a family vacation at Disney World. It was a great trip, filled with “magical moments” and a few heaping helpings of whining, bickering and standing in line.

Despite our best efforts, I fear our son Sam might walk away with one overpowering memory of the trip: rejection. Just a few notches too short, Sam was left on the sidelines for most of the thrilling rides like Rockin’ Roller Coaster, Expedition Everest and Primeval Twist.

When asked to describe his favorite part of the first day, he replied with sarcasm far beyond his four years, “Oh yeah. I know. The part where I couldn’t ride any of the cool rides because I am too little.”

He was still taking the rejection hard at the end of the week. When he measured less than the necessary 42 inches for a log ride at Sea World, I argued with the gatekeeper that he had qualified all week for similar-sized rides at Disney. “Sorry lady. No exceptions,” he said flatly.

As we walked away, Sam hung his head, lifted his palms toward the sky and said, “What is this? Honey I shrunk the kids week?”

The trip required consultation and guidance from two massive “Doing Disney” manuals, the setting of a daily alarm and ridiculous outlays of cash. Yet, despite all of this planning and effort we can only hope that our kids will remember the happiest and most magical Disney moments rather than the fact that they were too little for the really fun stuff.

I guess justice is finally being served for the ill feelings I harbored so long over the family dream vacation I wasn’t born to see.