That One Place Everyone is so Excited About: Disneyland

When my first child was old enough to understand words and look at pictures, I began showing her images of Hawaii and calling them Disneyland. I did this in hopes that when her peers and surrounding adults would inevitably begin celebrating and pushing this fabled “land”, she would be under the impression they loved Honolulu and that she would imagine herself there… not Anaheim. 

Because I would rather spend all of my money taking my child to the North Shore than some manufactured place with people dressed up as cartoon characters. I figure both places are about as equally expensive (truth), so I might as well trick my children into making me happy.

As with most preconceived notions of parenting, my plan failed.

Upon realizing that in large part due to current proximity, my children and spouse would full-on demand a Disneyland visit, I full-on planned to send them along without me. Yes I love my family and truly enjoy watching them be happy, but I am not sure my being there to see it is worth $200.

Do you know how much prosciutto I can buy for $200?

I understand that the things I have typed so far, already qualify me for some sort of firing squad. I do not intend to be sacrilegious, seditious, or even traitorous, I just don’t want to spend $800 for my family to see someone dressed up as Snow White.

Everyone tells me it isn’t just that. But it is in fact also that.

Let me attempt to be objective about this. I will admit that:

The production value of everything they do is far above and beyond whatever “par” is.

The rides, especially roller coasters, are fun.

There is at any given time and in any given place, something to do or see.

The crowd management systems and procedures are surprisingly effective, and do in fact minimize the horrors of waiting forever behind hordes of everyone to do something fun for a brief moment.

The food while not being cheap, is not bad.

My wife and children loved the place almost more than they love me. They might strike the word almost. I added it to make myself feel better.

So, having admitted all of that let me list what Disney is not:

Near the beach.

Affordable.

An actual kingdom.

The Devil.

Heaven.

As good as Six Flags.

 

The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far From the Tree: but a little bit it does

Repulsion vs. Propulsion: Knott’s Berry Farm

I like Roller Coaster’s. I like my family. I dislike lines but accept them as a part of civilized society. There are however, some lines that should never be crossed, or some lines, that stretch so long that you should cross them on your way somewhere else.

Despite proximity I have yet to venture on over to Disneyland. The price of admission is way past where I draw the line. Word on the street is that the lines at Knott’s Berry Farm are much, much shorter, and cheaper. Not riding roller coasters when roller coasters are available is a unacceptable in my wife’s mind so she drew a line in the sand. Not really in the sand, but rather on the calendar, and along with that line in the sand she declared, “Here marks the end of summer. Before this date, you (me), will join your family at Knott’s Berry Farm!”

So I did.

So did a lot of other people.

It had been nearly a decade since I had been strapped into an open air train that goes upside down and in my memory, it was fun.

I had a lot of time standing in line to reminisce and watch as screaming trains zipped over head. Hmmm. fun.

Having been lulled into a near coma while standing mostly motionless for 45 minutes I found my self unprepared for what was about to happen. I took a seat in a carriage built for someone half my size, buckled my seat belt, and was pleased when the pimply 16 year old double checked to make sure I was safe. So far so good.

But then this train took off like a rocket. No slow climb up a mountain, no click-click-click-pause before the rush, just explosive speed right from the start.

I screamed. Out loud.

I don’t normally do that sort of thing. But when that contraption slammed me back inn my seat, spun me upside down, then swirled in a corkscrew, I felt like expressing my joy out loud. I loved it. All 20 seconds of it.

I had forgotten how fun physical motion can be. All day I sit at a desk, then I walk around a little, maybe drive my car in a straight line at a reasonable speed for a little while, and then, when I find the time, I exercise a little. This had fooled me into thinking my life included motion. I was wrong.

Commuting to work is not the same as rocketing from 0-80 mph in 3 seconds and rocketing, in any form, is exciting. I like rocketing. It was worth standing in line. But, and this is a big but, I was also reminded of what is not worth standing in line and paying a lot of money: cotton candy, pretend cowboys, medleys of Broadway show tunes performed by 18 year olds, and interacting with humans dressed up like cartoon characters. Somewhere between the age of three and now I have lost my appreciation for all of those things.

But my kids haven’t, and I love my kids.

So while I contemplate where the lines of reason lie, regarding fun, magic, money, and facilitating childhood wonder as proscribed by the corporation of Mickey Mouse, I realize I may have to bend. MAY have to bend. Eventually.

And I also realize I need to find a way to get in the passenger seat of a jet fighter. Maybe a race car… or a spaceship. Anything more exciting than a desk.