Hi folks,
I've read all the posts on this topic and I thought I would add my own story.
My first visit to a Disney park was in 1971 when I was 5 years old. My parents took my older brother and I to
Disneyland. Even at such a young age, I still remember that trip vividly. I recall the music, the gabbling, excited voices, the sweet smells of candy, the mouth watering smells of popcorn, the far off screams from the Matterhorn, the wail of a lone wolf secreted behind a haunted mansion, the crisp "ding" of the trolley, the clopping of horses hooves, the rubbery woomping noise of dozens of ballons swaying in the breeze, giggles, laughs, points, shouts, music, bells, whistles, Magic everywhere.
And I especially recall my jaw dropping at the sight of the giant It's a Small World clock. I had to go. I had to see what it was. I just had to or my head would burst!
My dad, a career Naval officer, hard core Republican, firm Roman Catholic, rather stoic, somewhat firm, occasionally distant, but ever vigilant of his sons' safety, welfare and happiness, took my and my brother's hand and gamely stood in line. We climbed into the boat and I was in love.
The music, the dancing dolls, the shining lights, the endless, repetitive song even enchanted me. My head bobbed to the beat, my shoulders moved to the soft sway of the boat. I dangled my fingers tentatively in the water. "Quit that," my brother hissed. "You'll get in big trouble!"
And then the ride was over, with a huge, albeit muted, sigh of relief from my Dad.
And then the question most parents dread. "Daddy? Can you take me again? Please?"
And he did... three more times. Without a word of complaint. With nothing but a huge grin and a strong hand covering my own.
My own brother couldn't take it any longer. He sat with my mother and they waited as my Dad and I rode around the world.
So many years later, I'm a 6'4", 36 year old man, getting a few greys about the temples. I don't have children of my own. But I still go to the Happiest Place on Earth, only this time, it's bigger and in Florida.
I go with my partner and from time to time, friends join us.
And without fail, each time we visit the Magic Kingdom, I head to It's a Small World. Sure, the clock isn't there, it's in Disneyland. But the very same magic resides within.
Is the music cloyingly sweet? Sure. Does it have the tendency of sticking in your head for hours if not days. You bet! Does the ride itself seem a tad dated. Yeah, I guess. And can that song drive a sane man into fits. Yep!
Could I ride it four times in a row much like I did as a 5 year old? Ummmm, no. Once will do, thank you very much.
But I still climb into the boat, I still sway to the music, I still hum the tune.
And each and every time, when the ride comes to an end, and I see all the many different ways one can say "Goodbye" throughout the world, I think of my Dad. And that big hand holding mine. And that even bigger smile. And his never ending patience to make sure his 5 year old son is happy.
And I get a tear in my eye, a lump in my throat and I whisper aloud, "Thanks Dad."
And that's my own little story of Magic.
