With each visit to Disney, a part of me fears I’ve grown up—that I’ll find myself banished from the innocent delight the land holds; that I’ll be relegated to ‘today,’ unable to travel to yesterday, tomorrow, and fantasy.
Well, I’m happy to report, I’m not there yet.
Disneyland remains a place of magic, perhaps even more so than when I was child. After all, when you’re young the magic is relegated to rides and characters, sweet treats and souvenirs. Add a few years and it’s all that and more.
It’s seeing the land through the eyes of a child—of walking through Radiator Springs alongside a young boy as he looks up, eyes wide and full of wonder, and asks, “Dad, are we in the TV?”
It’s the attention to detail—the fact that one day Disney Imagineers said, ‘You know what would be fun. . . ’ and then they created it, just in case we took the time to notice.
It’s the world, drawing a bit closer—strangers stopping to ask if they can take a picture; people of every color and creed, screaming their way through Space Mountain or laughing at Goofy’s shenanigans.
It’s being a kid again, no matter your age . . . exploring . . . eating questionable food.
It’s the thrill of your favorite ride . . . and going on your least favorite ride, simply because it happens to be the favorite of someone you love.
It’s memories and laughter and ridiculous photos.
It’s seeing firsthand all that a dream can accomplish—with just a little faith and trust (and a little bit of pixie dust) . . .