So perhaps obsession runs in my blood a little. I own 124 baseball cards, and every one of them is of Nolan Ryan. If I start reading a book I am virtually gone from the world until I have read the last word. Heaven help me if it is a series. However, I don't know if any of my past obsessions match my current Disneyland fixation.
It was only last August when my wife and I decided to splurge a little and take the family to Disneyland. We were innocent at the time, just in need of a little vacation, and our kids were tall enough for most of the rides, so we packed up the van and headed west. I did not know that I would be taking that same trip 5 times in the next year and a half.
Getting Started
We arrived like any other packed van of camera-toting tourists. We took the survivalist approach to the park, distributing food and supplies among our 3 boys, preparing them with instructions on when to use their rations. "These are yours, but don't eat them all before we get in there. You want to refuel as you walk and always take advantage of the water fountains you see." The 3-year old just struck his best Power Ranger pose, growling at me as I shoved fruit snacks into his pockets. His brothers (5 and 7) didn't seem to soak in any of the speech either. They were up an hour earlier than usual, and it showed in their blank stare.
Leaving them behind in their stupor, I hefted the 29.5 pound backpack I was to trudge around with for the rest of the day and headed for the car. There was a cool breeze, and the salty California air only egged me on. My wife herded the zombies into the van and we were off.
Engaging the park
Being the centennial tightwad, I was determined to get our money out of this place if it took every last ounce of will I had. The online map that was already several weeks old was stuck in my pocket, and every tip and trick I had learned about Fast Passes looped endlessly through my head. We had made good time so far by getting to the park early, so my chances were good. We were "beeped" through the entrance booth, the tickets were stowed in a pouch around my neck, and I was waving goodbye to the kids and yelling to my wife to keep the boys moving towards Space Mountain where I would meet them after getting some Fast Passes. The key was to stay on top of the Fast Pass game.
Ten minutes later, Fast Passes around my neck with the tickets, I was sitting in Tomorrowland blissfully unaware that it would take the family another 5 minutes to get there. Finally they arrived, and I ushered them into the line. We were still one of the first guests there, and 10 minutes later we entered the boarding room of one of my favorite rides. Perhaps it was wrong to approach this as I did, but the kids were all tall enough, and therefore there would be no turning back for anyone. None of the boys had ever ridden a roller coaster; OK, they had never even seen a roller coaster up close, but that is why Space Mountain made all the sense in the world. It is indoors and completely black. I don't know if it was the screaming coming from the dark hole in the wall, or the windblown hairstyles of the people shooting out of that hole that tipped them off, but all of a sudden all 3 boys started having misgivings. I knew from the start that we would run into this sooner or later, and it was an essential part of my War on Disney that I win this particular battle. I was prepared to give a lot for this all-important victory.
"You guys listen to me. There is only one rule on this trip. We can do anything you want, and we will have endless fun here, but you have to go on every ride. This is not an option. There is no way out. Now move on, the line is getting away from us." My wife rolled her eyes as we moved with the line. It was all a bluff, of course, as well as a gamble, but I had to go for the win now, early on. The 3 year-old whimpered a little as I pulled the bars down onto our laps, but I didn't mind. At least he wasn't crying like the 5 year-old. I put a comforting arm across his body, grasping the far side of his lap bar. "Just hold on to Daddy," I said, silently hoping that this gamble was going to pay off. I could just picture spending the rest of the day in Fantasyland because I had scared the wits out of him. A few minutes later it was over, the lap bars snapped up and I helped him out of the car. His hair was swept back, demon-like in its spikiness, and his face was white. I took his hand to help steady him as the shaking died down. Here it comes, I thought. "Hey buddy, how do you feel? Wanna sit down or rest? We can do whatever you want."
"I just wanna go again."
He smiled to match his hair. I smiled with him. The game was on.
Defeat
I now had 3.5 fully supportive troops for my cause (my wife was having a good time, but thought that we were all nuts). I exploited every piece of information I had, and by lunchtime we had taken out at least a third of the park and I had a fat pouch full of Fast Passes for later on in the day when the lines were long. The boys were having the times of their lives, and our camera actually felt heavier from all of the pictures it was storing (OK, maybe it was the other contents of the pack that were wearing me down.) By 8 PM my pack was 20 pounds lighter, but the boys were done. My eyes narrowed as I went over the two-thirds of the park that we had covered. And we had two more days to go. Nice. I slipped it in my pocket, shouldered the unconscious 3-year old and headed for the parking lot trams.
Back at the hotel I poured each of the kids into their beds, and then sat on the edge of the flower-patterned comforter. I was a bit alarmed to see a huge lump under the blankets next to me, then realized it was my wife. I swear she is related to Clark Kent when it comes to getting ready for sleep. From the sound of her breathing she was already dreaming, so I leaned back against the headboard and studied the map. That is when it happened. It was one thought, but it was defeat in every aspect. In conquering the park there was no victory. I knew that not only did I get to do it again tomorrow, but I had too. I was hooked.
It gave me everything I wanted that day. I wanted a strategic battle. It obliged. I wanted to see my kids light up about something other than the TV, and they did. I wanted to really laugh with my wife and hold hands with her as we went from one moment of fun to the next. Not only did I get all of these things, but I had a camera full of keepsakes to help me remember it all.
Now sure, I skimmed over the materialistic side, the hurried trips through the shops at attraction exits, the grainy picture of the picture that showed us being scared out of our wits on a ride and the whining that comes out of children whenever they are within 20 feet of a cash register, which I should add, seem to be placed every 20 feet throughout the park. Yet at the end of the day, I didn't need to purchase a single trinket to get what I wanted. In fact I wondered at how they were able to do so much, to pay attention to so much detail, for the flimsy price of a 3-day park hopper. The wages of just the janitorial staff I had seen that day cost more than I had paid. Surely, just the electricity to power all of the rides we had already been on had barely let Walt & Co. break even on my tickets. How did they do this?
I changed, got into bed and turned out the lights. I was sliding into sleep, where I heard my kids laughing uproariously with theme-park music in the background when it came to me. The answer has been a Disney message for my whole life and longer.
Magic. It had to be magic.
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