Disney World (Abridged)

It was 1971, or at least that’s what I was told in later years.  The first time my family went to Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida, on the very the first year it was open for business.  Myself, my sister, and our parents all boarded a Greyhound bus bound for Walt Disney World (the moniker “Magic Kingdom” didn’t come around until later when they started adding more parks, I believe) since my mother was terrified of setting foot on an airplane, and off we went.  The trip down was one of those times that even as a child, I realized wasn’t a whole lot of fun.  The bus was loud, hot, and uncomfortable, and every time it stopped at a rest area we were terrified it would take off again without us if we weren’t back in exactly 10 minutes, as the bus driver repeatedly drilled into all our heads.  I do remember the family behind us kept offering us fried chicken though, which in retrospect was very kind of them, but at the time was looked upon with great suspicion.  We were from the city, and were suspect of any random offers of kindness coming from complete strangers.  Besides, the chicken smelled pretty funky after sitting on that bus for half a day.  The trip down was scarring enough that my mother actually cashed in the bus tickets immediately upon our arrival and bought us all plane tickets for the ride home.

Luckily, everything after that bus ride truly was magical.  I was only 2-and-a-half years old so I remember what seem like random snippets from the trip rather than having coherent memories of it.  But I do have very clear memories of the multiple subsequent trips we took after that.  After that first trip, my Mom’s parents (who we lived with in a triple-decker) would come along every time as well.  The six of us would pile into the family car, even on years when said family car was a 5-passenger model, and set out to make the monumental drive (or so it seemed as a kid) in three long days.  We’d stop along the way in North Carolina and northern Georgia to spend a night at a roadside motor inn, which was all part of the adventure.  Swimming in those pools, eating at McDonald’s or Cracker Barrel or, on a special day, a Howard Johnson’s (where you could play those fun peg board games they left on the table, in the hopes that you’d buy one at the gift shop on the way out the door), all those things added to the excitement that with every passing hour we were getting closer to the place we all wanted to be, every day of the year.

I don’t know exactly how many times we all went there, but it must be double digits easily.  It was enough so that all these years later, I can tell you how to get anywhere you’d want to go in the Magic Kingdom or Epcot (which I still call EPCOT Center), and I’m the same guy who can’t find his way home half the time without a GPS.  After my sister and I were grown and moved on, and after my grandparents were too old to make the trip, my parents continued.  We lived in Boston yet they had season passes because they went often enough to make that a better financial choice.  My Dad’s work took him to the area often, so whenever he went my Mom would buy a plane ticket (another magical thing about the Magic Kingdom – It was what finally convinced my Mom that it was worth getting over that fear of flying) and go along for the trip.  I hadn’t actually been myself in a number of years, since 1992 I believe.  I didn’t really have anything against it the way a lot of my friends seem to, it just seemed a natural part of growing up that I preferred to do things like actually see some of those countries which had sanitized versions of themselves in Epcot instead.  So along I went, exploring more and more, while my parents continued their multiple-times-a-year Disney World vacations.

My Mom took my daughter and I to Disney World in January of 2007, but my daughter was young enough that she didn’t really remember it. In early 2011 I finally thought it was time to share the magic with my daughter, so I told her if she behaved we just might be able to go this Summer (I had the trip booked and paid for, but wanted to keep up a little bit of the fun & surprise).  And today as I write this, it’s the day after having returned home from our trip.  After having spent every second of every day with her I thought I’d be ready for a break (being a half-time Dad most of the time means I have built-in fun time), but instead I find myself really deeply missing her today.  I spent the morning doing laundry and unpacking all the souvenirs and toys we bought on the trip, and they’re all lined up across the kitchen table and her bed, waiting for her next visit on Tuesday evening when we’ll pore through it all along with the 1,000 (yes, exactly 1,000) pictures we took on our 7-day trip.

So what did I find in Disney World?  I found magic.  I found it’s a place that still holds those happy feelings for me.  I found myself thinking about my family often while we were there, and the memories brought with them overwhelming feelings of happiness.  All the moments I shared with my daughter were truly amazing.  The little things we shared, like her favorite breakfast table at the resort restaurant (which by some miracle we managed to snag, despite it being a prime window seat, every single morning except for one – but we still managed to find a window table that morning too).  Our little routine of getting coffee and juice and pastries before walking to the bus that would take us to the theme park we were heading to that day.  The pink “Princess” mouse ears she wore and the collectible pin lanyard she wore around her neck.  The sheer excitement at going on the rides and seeing the shows, and the absolute glow on her face when we had dinner with the Princesses, one night at Cinderella’s Castle in the Magic Kingdom and one night at the Akershus Royal Dining Hall in Epcot.  We even managed to branch out a little and take in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Universal Studios’ Islands of Adventure, although we both found that particular outing way too crowded for comfort.  And then it was time to come home.

On our last day we went back to the Magic Kingdom to go on a few of our favorite rides one last time, with The Haunted Mansion and Pirates of the Caribbean being two particular favorites.  Our last ride of the trip was It’s a Small World, which I thought a very fitting way to end the trip. As we were leaving the park the twinges started to come fast and furious.  I didn’t want it to end, I wanted to stay in this place that held so many happy memories and that was helping my daughter build her own special memories while at the same time giving me a place to spend so much quality time with her, just the two of us, one-on-one. I didn’t want any of it to end, but I knew it had to.  We took the bus back to our resort and got off at the stop near our room despite it being nowhere near the main entrance, where we’d catch the bus back to the airport.  We both wanted to take our morning stroll from the room to the main lobby and restaurant one last time, where we planned to get a snack and a cold drink while we waited for our bus.  We snapped a few pictures along the way, and I couldn’t resist getting a few of our room (from the outside, as we’d already checked out). My daughter kept saying how quickly the vacation seemed to go by and I couldn’t agree more.  But on we went.  It was at this point that I mentioned to her that maybe, just maybe, if she was a good girl all year in school in the Second Grade, we could do it all over again next year.  I can still see the big goofy smile and the pink Princess mouse ears bobbing as she assured me she was going to be the best little girl in the world for the next year if that meant we could come back.

When we arrived back at the restaurant we stopped at the pastry counter where she got a cupcake and I got a yogurt parfait, and we each got a cold drink.  She said she’d go get our table and she ran for it, and I was amazed when I got there that indeed, there it was, empty and waiting for us, the corner window seat in the little nook just as we’d left it that morning.  We sat and had our snacks, and I booted up the computer to load the pictures from our trip onto it in order to make sure I had at least two copies, just to be safe.  We found we had a total of 998 pictures, then decided to take two more right there to make it an even 1,000 (matching the number of ghosts the Ghost Host wanted in the Haunted Mansion, I noted).  Once we had all 1,000 pictures loaded up we went through them quickly, looking at each and reliving the previous week in the span of the next 30 minutes or so.  Then it was time to go and off we went.

On the plane home she slept on me for a little bit, and I was in heaven.  It was the perfect way to end such a wonderful trip.  I miss her terribly today and can’t wait for Tuesday when we’ll no doubt revisit the entire trip again. I miss my daughter, and I miss the place that brought us together and made so many magic moments and special memories possible.  Until next time…

Best… Day… Ever!

It’s one of those relatively common questions that you’re asked.  Usually it’s asked in situations that render it completely insincere: First dates, job interviews, that sort of thing.  And usually you answer without really putting much thought into it, and you come up with something that fits the bill convincingly enough without being too personal, and usually without being completely honest.  I have to wonder how many people can honestly answer this particular question because it can be a tough one.  I can though, and I’ve been thinking about it for five years without my answer having wavered one bit.  It’s an honest answer, and one I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

The question I’m talking about is “What was the happiest moment of your life”, or some variant of that (“What was your greatest day ever?”, “What was the best thing that ever happened to you?”, etc.).  For me that moment happened in a location I never would have expected it: a deserted terminal at Boston Logan Airport on a Tuesday evening.

On this particular Tuesday evening in 2006, my daughter, who was then about 2-1/3 years old, was scheduled to return from a trip to TN with her mother.  I went to the airport to meet her and was waiting as close to the gate as I could possibly get.  The place was mostly deserted, except for the TSA agent who was making sure nobody entered through the exit.  I wondered more than once if he was going to doze off, and if he did, if I could actually sneak into the gate area and wait for the flight to arrive there.  But despite looking mind-numbingly bored, he never did completely doze off.

Eventually my daughter’s flight arrived, and people began to meander out through the exit.  At first it was just a couple of people, then the crowd grew thicker as the bulk of the passengers deplaned.  Just as the crowd started to thin out again I saw her: My daughter, her hair in two stubby pigtails sticking straight out from the sides of her head, wearing shorts and a pink shirt, pulling her tiny pink suitcase on wheels (more than likely emblazoned with the image of one or more of the Disney Princesses, something which she assures me now, at the ripe old age of 7, she has completely outgrown and is not the least bit interested in anymore).  She only got about 10 feet out of the exit when she spotted me, and the biggest smile I’ve ever seen crossed her face.  This is when the best moment begins, and the 15-second clock starts now (this will all make sense in a couple more paragraphs, I promise).

She started running towards me, her little legs pumping as fast as she could, her eyes wide and the enormous smile not fading one bit.  She was pumping her right arm up and down as she ran, and her left kept holding on to that suitcase, which was suddenly rolling on those little wheels much faster than I’m sure the manufacturer had ever intended.  She got about halfway across the floor, listing to one side a bit due to the suitcase, when she realized that the suitcase was slowing her down, so she just let go of it.  It dropped to the floor with a clatter but she didn’t look back, didn’t hesitate one bit, only sped up since she no longer had that extra weight slowing her down.  It was one of the most touching things I’ve ever seen since it seemed so unlike a kid at that age to just drop her bag, probably full of her favorite stuffed animals and a coloring book or two, with absolutely no regard for what happened to it at all.  Many a person smiled, some laughed (including the semi-conscious TSA agent, I noticed), and a few even pointed and gasped.  I saw her coming and crouched down to her height, my arms spread wide, and she barreled straight into me so hard that I’m still amazed I didn’t fall over backwards.  I picked her up and held her for what seemed like forever and at the same time like far too short a span of time.  When the hug eased up she looked me in the eye, yelled “DADDY!”,  and gave me a big kiss.

That’s where the 15-second clock ends.  Those 15 seconds are burned into my memory so strongly that I can play them back like a movie at will.  That was easily the greatest moment of my life, and it was the moment that made me realize what having a daughter was all about.

By the way, those Disney Princesses that she’s “not the least bit interested” in anymore?  I’m taking her to Disney World for a week soon, and I told her that we were having dinner with the Princesses not one, but two nights.  She didn’t mention this fact for a while, but tonight as she was sitting in the bathtub she asked if we were still going to do that, and exactly which Princesses I thought would be there.  And I couldn’t help noticing that she had a very big smile on her face when she asked…

What’s This Word Say?

Possibly my favorite entry from my old blog, once again about my daughter.  Originally published on August 14th, 2010.

For the past 14 years (wow, time flies!) I’ve worked professionally in the arena of educational software. The vast majority of that work has been focused on helping kids with reading difficulties overcome those issues (things like dyslexia, ADHD, low vision,etc.). I really love what I do for a lot of reasons, including the fact that I get to work with some really interesting technologies. But the thing that’s kept me going all this time, the thing that makes me get up in the morning and want to go to work, is knowing that I’m helping some kids have a better life. In years past (for example, when I was a kid in school…) a lot of these kids would have been preordained into a life of illiteracy, which comes saddled with an incredible amount of stigma, struggle, and even implications for how likely they are to spend significant parts of their life in jail. Literacy changes lives, it gives people the ability to explore new ideas and learn anything they care to. Coming from the socio-economic level I do, and I suspect most people reading this do, it’s hard to imagine what a life of illiteracy is really like. Consider yourself very lucky if you fall into this group.

Yesterday was a really significant day for me professionally. Ten minutes before I left for the weekend, I dropped a single DVD in the mail. That DVD was the culmination of 18 months of work by a team of software developers, testers, and professional educators. That one DVD will go off and generate an impressive sum of money for this company, and rightfully so. But far more importantly, that one DVD will change lives. I truly believe this and have done so for a long time, and was thinking about what that DVD would do as I sat in the shipping room alone in the late afternoon printing a UPS label to slap on it. Today I’m happy and content, thinking we’ve done something that will, in a small way, make the world a better place. For some kids that one DVD will make the world an entirely different place, one in which there’s hope, and success, and a world of new ideas and thoughts. Maybe some of those kids will change the world themselves someday as a result.

Shortly after dropping that DVD in the UPS pile, I left for the weekend to pick up my daughter from her day camp. She’s 6, and about to start first grade in a couple of weeks. As we sat at dinner (at a little outdoor café since the weather was stunningly perfect), she looked me straight in the eye and said “I can read now you know.” She’s been “reading” for a while in that she can pick out a few words here and there, and do the typical little-kid trick of memorizing a few pages from books that I read to her over and over. Like most 6-year-olds she’s also convinced she knows everything and doesn’t need to bother with that pesky learning process. But something was different this time. She really seemed proud of herself, and more than that, really wanted to show me that she could do it. So I suggested we head to the nearby Barnes & Noble after we finished dinner to look for some books that she might be able to read all by herself, and she enthusiastically agreed.

After dinner I started driving over towards the bookstore and she excitedly asked if we were really going to Barnes & Noble. I assured her we were and thought it was funny that she hadn’t forgotten (6-year-olds can have a pretty short memory at times, although this particular 6-year-old never seems to forget a thing). As we entered the store she asked if we were going to the kids’ section, which I assured her we were and asked her to lead the way. She poked around a bit and I asked her a few leading questions, like what sort of things she might like to read about. She decided she wanted a book about puppies, and we pretty quickly found an appropriately-leveled book about Mudge the Puppy, and another about Barbie and her horse-training camp. She sat down on a nearby kid-sized bench and proudly started reading me excerpts from the Barbie book, stopping occasionally to ask me what a particular word was (much of this was captured by the video camera on my iPhone for posterity). We picked another book to read together at bedtime (a slightly more advanced tome about a princess and a unicorn, since I’d be the one doing the bedtime reading), paid for our selections, and left.

The second we walked in the door she was begging to break out the books, and I happily obliged. She admitted in the store she had the same Barbie book at her mom’s house, but the Mudge the Puppy book was totally new to her. I was happy to see her go for that one first, plop herself down on the sofa, and ask if I wanted her to read it to me. I really regret that I didn’t think to pull out my iPhone to record it now, but she sat there and read the entire book cover-to-cover for me. Sure, there were a few little hiccups, but she did it, sounding out the words she didn’t know and looking very proud when she got one right. It was truly magical, and that was when it hit me.

My daughter is learning to read as most kids around her age naturally will. She’s doing great, and more importantly is proud of her own progress and is building her self-confidence. The fact that I realized she can read more than just a couple of words on the same day I dropped that little DVD full of software in the mail was a pretty interesting coincidence, and has really renewed my enthusiasm for what I do every day. If I can help one kid out there feel the way my daughter did today, and help one parent feel like their child is on the road to a better life as a result, that is just incredible. I’m truly grateful to be able to play a role in that story.

Brothers

Another particularly important one (for me, anyway) from my old blog, this time about my best friend Jim.  I called him Sid in the original article due to an overzealous privacy instinct.  But really, what’s the harm in using a real first name here?  I’m not going to worry about it, and hopefully Jim doesn’t either.  Originally published on August 28th, 2009.

An interesting realization came to me today at a rather peculiar time. Today was a really stressful day at work in a lot of ways. I have one of those jobs that people have one of two immediate reactions to, either “Wow, how did you manage to pull that off?” or “Wow, that must be incredibly stressful!” I admit the first thought has occurred to me quite often without anybody’s help. I know I worked hard to get where I am today, but I also know I’m pretty damn lucky that a lot of pieces fell into the right place at the right time to get me here. The second thought isn’t one I have very often though. I usually enjoy what I do, even though sometimes lately I find it lacking in challenges and hence interest. Today was a pretty high-octane day though, from the moment I sat down at my desk this morning until well after I’d left the office for the day.

Smack in the middle of all the professional stress a thought just kind of materialized in my mind, as if someone was holding a sign in front of me with this thought emblazoned on it. The thought that popped into my head was that I have a friend who I’ve literally known longer than any other living human being in the world, with the exception of my sister. For the purpose of this little exercise I’m going to use the name “Sid” for my best friend, since I’ve no idea if he’d want his real name used on this blog.

I met Sid in September of 1983. It is now nearly September of 2009, almost exactly 26 years later. In the intervening 26 years I’ve been through a lot of difficult times. I’ve been married, and divorced. I fell in love harder than I thought possible after that, and when that failed it tore me apart for a solid two years. After that I was married again. Three weeks before that second wedding I wound up hospitalized for nearly two weeks after my appendix ruptured, with most of that time spent in a hospital bed hallucinating and hoping the pain would just end at any cost. I lost my maternal grandfather, who was for all intents and purposes a second father to me (we all grew up in the same house) on the same day I closed on my second house. I lost my father, quite unexpectedly, literally being called home from Paris when he received his surprise diagnosis, and then being called home from Las Vegas just in time to get home and see him one last time (although I’m not sure he really knew I was there by then – I also slept through the time when he actually died for which I never really forgave myself). I had a daughter, which unlike the rest of these events was a great thing and what kept me going through some of what was to come. I was diagnosed with a life-threatening condition from which I was not expected to recover (although I obviously have, and am now probably healthier than I’ve ever been). I lost my mother, with a few years advance warning which did absolutely nothing to cushion the blow. Much like when my father died I wasn’t there when she actually went, I was in a dentist’s chair having a badly infected tooth removed, and I still have not forgiven myself because I spent so much time with her those last weeks and had to pick that particular morning to not be there. I lost my maternal grandmother, who was for all intents and purposes like a second mother to me. And I’m a hair’s breath away from being divorced a second time (this also, however, is a very good thing).

The reality underneath is that I’m a pretty fundamentally happy person, but you can lose track of that when a string of bad shit (not unlike that outlined above) comes rolling your way. I’m not saying my life has been all bad either, not by any stretch. It’s probably fair to say I’ve led a pretty charmed life. For all the bad things that have happened in the last few years, here I am. Still going, successful professionally, optimistic for the future personally, and doing my best to enjoy every day that comes my way in the meantime. Being told you’re going to die, then being told they don’t know why you didn’t die, then being told it’s a miracle and you’re not going to die, that can have a pretty profound impact on your outlook on life. It’s too bad it took a little extra time for that to sink in and for me to learn that lesson, but I’ve learned it now.

Through it all, there was Sid. Others who should have been there weren’t, and fell by the wayside when the going got tough. Sid was my one true friend who I could always count on. He’s been there, listening to me dish out the alternatingly solid and stupid advice to him during his tough times, only to see me unable to heed my own advice when rough times came my way. He’s been a rock, a friend, a confidant, and has helped me sift through the madness to find the reality underneath. He’s been there to share all the good times along the way too, and I’m proud that my daughter calls him Uncle Sid with a smile on her face and a sparkle in her eye.

Sid, you mean a lot to me. I am sorry if I forget to tell you that sometimes, or get so wrapped up in myself or my own problems that I take you for granted. You’re my brother, and I love you. And know that in another 26 years I plan to write a very similar blog entry (hopefully without the string of bad shit in the middle) while sitting next to you on the shuffleboard court. And then, like now, you’ll still be older than me.

A Day at the Beach

I’m not going to drag over every single article from my old blog, just a few that I think are particularly meaningful/interesting/amusing to me.  Here’s the first of those, about my daughter.  Originally published on June 26th, 2010.

Today was the first day since the beginning of this new Summer season that I managed to make it to a beach. I hadn’t realized when I set out this morning that it was probably the first time I’d been to a beach with my daughter in two years (I’m pretty sure now that we never made it last year, and no, pools don’t count). I realize now that was a huge mistake, both because it’s a very easy thing to do with a child, and also a beach is just about the single most exciting thing a 6-year-old can apparently imagine, aside perhaps from a trip to Disney World.

Visiting the beach with my daughter provides so many vivid examples of how the simple things in life are often the best. It’s also a great example of how living in the moment is the best way to approach life. When you’re sitting there, building a sand castle or hunting for seashells on a beautiful summer morning, there’s really no need for your mind to be anywhere else. It’s an amazing feeling when you wander off to hunt for good seashells (there are apparently very complex rules regarding what constitutes a “good” seashell, yet we still managed to collect a half a pail of them) and suddenly realize an hour has slipped away.

At one point I raised my arm, motioned out at the ocean, and asked my daughter what she thought was on the other side. She had a lot of guesses, some funny (“a parking lot”) and some intriguing (“the whole world”, which is the way I tend to look at it myself). I told her that if you went straight across that ocean the first place you’d come across, after several thousand miles of empty ocean, would be the Northern edge of Spain (I was relieved to discover I hadn’t misled her when I consulted an atlas upon our return home). This was met with a flurry of questions which fascinated me: Suddenly the world had come alive to her perhaps in a way she hadn’t considered before. It seemed both larger and smaller at the same time. She’s been to Spain which I think only helped to make the point that I was trying to make, which was this: The world is an enormous place full of exotic foreign lands, but it’s possible for her to see those places, explore them, enjoy them, and learn from every one of them. What started as a day full of science lessons (discussions about crabs, tides, how seagulls fly, how boats navigate, etc.) turned into a larger discussion about geography, and then a philosophical one (as much as such a thing is possible with a 6-year-old) about the world and reaching for its frontiers that fascinated her.

Perhaps I have a future Indiana Jones on my hands. I think that would be a wonderful thing. If she can keep half of the natural curiosity that all children have into adulthood I think she’ll have an interesting life. I’ll do what I can to encourage her to do exactly that, but no matter what she does, I have no doubt I’ll be proud of her.

I love you, Doodles! Thank you for teaching me more every day than I feel I can ever teach you.

Fairy Tales Can Come True

My daughter turned 7 a couple of months ago.  That was the point where I finally realized it was time to stop saying “One of these days I really need to take that kid to Disney World” and to start actually making it happen.  I planned, I plotted, I schemed, I scheduled, and as I finally got around to booking the trip I was surprised to discover how expensive it all was.  Ultimately I decided it didn’t matter and the time spent making memories with my daughter was easily worth it.  I think a little history is in order here to help explain why it was so important to me.

When I was a kid we went to Disney World so many times I lost count.  It was always a major event, which my Mom (who we always called Ma) starting planning a year in advance.  She’d pore through every guidebook she could get her hands on (this was well before the days of the internet), consult with every relative who had been there recently, draw elaborate diagrams, and make plans for every second of every day.  The tension would mount as the weeks and months passed and the day of departure grew closer until we all thought we’d just burst form the sheer excitement of it all.

When the big day finally arrived, the six of us (myself, my sister, our parents, and Ma’s parents) would all pile into the car for the three-day car ride.  Did I mention Ma had a serious fear of flying?  The only exception was the very first time we went, in (I think) 1972.  We took a Greyhound bus down, and the experience was so incredibly horrible that the first thing Ma did upon arrival was convince my Dad that we needed to book plane tickets to get home, because there was absolutely no way she was setting foot on that damn bus again.  That was the first time I saw Ma get on a plane, and although it wasn’t the last time quite a few years passed before she did it again.  I still consider that a testament to how much that bus ride sucked.

Other than that first-time bus ride, Disney World was always a magical experience.  True, the three-day car rides with six people crammed in a car built for five could be a test of endurance, but in some weird way those car rides only helped to build the excitement and anticipation.  My parents and grandparents loved it as much as my sister and I did, and even after us kids were grown and moved out, my parents returned to Disney World multiple times a year, to the point where they even bought season tickets for a couple of years.

When my daughter was born, Ma almost immediately began talking about how much she wanted to take her to Disney World.  When she was 2 (my daughter, not Ma) we decided it was time to make that happen.  Ma had been diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer a couple of years before, and we knew she didn’t have forever, but in retrospect it was lucky we planned the trip when we did.  About halfway through she started to have trouble walking long distances and up hills, and she passed away just a few months after we got back.  But I’ll never forget that trip, and although my daughter doesn’t remember much of it, she very much remembers her Nana.  We look at the pictures from that trip quite often, and I can’t wait to tell her we’re going again this Summer.

I avoided going back to Disney World for a long time because the family I grew up going there with is mostly gone, and I wasn’t sure if it would be a lot of fun or just really sad to go back there now.  But the time is right to start forging new memories with my daughter there, and hopefully someday that place will be as special to us as it was to my parents and I when I was growing up.  I know my parents and grandparents would approve, and I only wish they could be there to share it with us.  In the meantime I’ll be plotting, and planning, and drawing elaborate diagrams, and doing my best to make sure my special girl has the time of her life on that trip.