A little over fifty-eight years ago, my Mom went to Disneyland when I was about two months old and snapped the picture above (on the left) on the It’s a Small World ride. I came into possession of this photo some time back, and it has always stuck in my mind – a simple image from when Disneyland was the only Disney park (Disney World would open in Florida three years later), and before Disney became a huge, globe-spanning empire, encompassing such varied brands as Star Wars, Marvel, and (amusingly) the Aliens franchise.
Which, as some have noted with glee, makes the Xenomorph queen officially a Disney Princess. *grin*
When I was a little older, my Mom and I would visit my grandparents every summer in Redondo Beach, about forty-five minutes from Disney. We would usually stay for about a week. Then one day, they would wake me up and say “We’re going to Disneyland!”
We would explore the park together, Grandpa and Grandma often waiting for us as me and my Mom or my Aunt Lerri would go on some of the rides.
When I got a little older, they would let me loose on Tom Sawyer Island, all by myself. I would explore the caves and the fort – you could still clamber through the fort at that time and pretend to be Davey Crockett, and there was a second cave that led to the now-closed northern part of the island.
We would often eat lunch at the Blue Bayou, overlooking the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. And as we were making our way out of the park, we’d shop on Main Street, where I would get a little ceramic figurine of one of my favorite characters and a box of rock candy – pure sugar crystals that I’m sure my mother dreaded for their effect on me.
All of this was in the back of my mind as we prepared to go to World Con in Anaheim, which was to be held right next to the California Adventure park.
Last time Mark and I visited Disney was probably in the mid- to late-90’s, when California Adventure was still a vast, flat parking lot. Numerous attempts to do so again were considered and rejected in the intervening years (and I attended a writer con three years running in the late twenty-teens in Florida, next to and within Disney World, and never once managed to see those parks while I was there).
So this time I put my foot down. We were going to be in Anaheim, and I was going to Disney, come hell or high water (closer to hell, as it turned out – the temperature reached almost 100 degrees with 80% humidity). I wanted to see Star Wars: Galaxy’s Edge, and visit some old faves to see if I could recapture some of the magic of my childhood visits.
We got our tickets online.
The first thing I realized is that this is no longer the Disney company I remembered. Two tickets cost us $300 (compared to $18 each when I was a kid and about $30 each in my early twenties). You have to get your tickets in advance or risk being locked out, and the same goes for restaurants like the Blue Bayou.
And if you want to be guaranteed a quick trip through the ride lines, you’ll pay between $50 and $400 a person for special passes, but they come with many restrictions, which means you’ll end up on your phone making reservations for half the day instead of actually, you know, enjoying the park. So I was dubious about how the whole thing would go down.
We arrived in Anaheim late Monday, and on Tuesday made a foray to Downtown Disney, a glorified shopping mall partially sandwiched between Disneyland and California Adventure. I was hopeful that this would be the start of our magical Disney experience.
Instead of magic, we found a bunch of stores chock-full of merchandise celebrating the various Disney properties, most of it plastic and probably from China. The simple charm of Disney that I remembered was gone, replaced by a million variations of Mickie and Minnie mouse ears, and a few thousand metric tons of soon-to-be-landfilled tchotchkes.
The only place in the outdoor mall I really enjoyed was the little art store, where there were some beautiful artistic reinterpretations of famous Disney characters.
We left disheartened.
So it was with a heavy heart that we set off for the Magic Kingdom park on Wednesday morning. We went with our friends Marvin and Eric, and my co-writer Kim Fielding and her daughter, Quinn.
And as soon as we entered the gate, my heart lifted.
Main Street looks much like it always has (if you ignore the giant Mickey Mouse pumpkin sculpture in the town square – it is almost Halloween, after all).
I immediately felt my grandparents there with me. They departed this Earth a decade and two decades ago, respectively – but for just a minute, the metallic smell of the train took me back to being a little kid again, holding their hands, excited to ride all the rides and get my box of sugar.
The park has grown and evolved over the years. I still remember when Space Mountain opened in the seventies, and then Thunder Mountain and Splash Mountain (now Tiana’s Bayou Adventure). Whole new lands have been built – Star Wars Galaxy’s Edge and Toon Town. And yet, it still feels like the Disneyland I grew up with.
Well, mostly.
I’m not a big fan of the Halloweenification of the park, especially when they mess with such tried and true rides as the Haunted Mansion, which has been taken over by Jack Skellington for the season. I missed the original ride, especially the creepy extending portraits as the lobby descends, elevator-style, into the main part of the ride.
But still.
Star Wars Galaxy’s Edge was amazing, a true immersion experience into the world of Star Wars. I found out I am a terrible gunner. I loved the Indiana Jones ride. Roger Rabbit, not so much. All told, we managed sixteen different rides, most with five minute waits – the heat and humidity turned out to be a blessing, as they kept the big crowds away.
It was the classics that really hit home. I whooped my way through Space Mountain, laughed on Pirates of the Caribbean as we plunged down the river and got splashed by the dank water, threw my hands up in glee on the Matterhorn’s twists and turns through the mountain, and chuckled ruefully at the corny jokes on the Jungle Boat ride (which felt more steamy and jungly than usual).
But it was It’s a Small World that got me.
I mentioned the photo my mother took above. It has always stuck n my head, and so I watched for that kangaroo the whole ride through, and then there she was.
The details have changed – the color scheme and lighting are bolder and brighter, and somehow the joey’s neck got shorter. But it was still the same recognizable marsupial that my mother saw that summer day, just months after I was born.
I felt the connection through time keenly, my throat closing up and tears coming to my eyes.
It was the message of the ride, too. Sure, It’s a Small World may be one of the corniest and most relentlessly mocked of the Disneyland rides, and its portrayal of race and culture sometimes comes across as appropriative and a bit ham handed.
And yet, the message shines through. We all share this small globe, both its joys and pains, and if we are going to make it through the next few decades, we have to start by recognizing our joint, shared humanity.
My Grandma Joyce was an artist, a writer, and a lover of theater, who worked with children to bring wild fantasies to life on the stage.
My Grandpa Pete was (in the words of my father, his son-in-law), “the only person I know who can read Scientific from cover to cover… and understand it.”
Both were loving, kind, amazing human beings who recognized the value of others, even folks who were not like them.
I felt them with me in that cheesy little boat, floating through a gloriously technicolor ride that extolls love and cooperation, nodding along with me and singing the song.
Sometimes you can go back.