The next day, I was eager to check out the rides I used to love. I led my son to Pirates of the Caribbean. About 30 seconds after we pushed off, we entered pure darkness, and our boat dropped suddenly down a steep hill. Carlos began wailing. I began beating myself up for bringing him on the ride. But as he calmed down, I remembered what I had adored about it as a kid, because I felt it again—the tingling anticipation that happens when you know you're about to get thoroughly spooked. Later, Carlos declared the ride "cool—except the part when the pirates were pointing guns at our boat." Fair enough.
As we wandered around the park, it was hard for me not to mourn the Disney of my youth, when the submarine ride didn't star Nemo and Johnny Depp's pretty face didn't pop up among the other pirates' grizzled mugs. While I was heartbroken to discover that It's a Small World was closed during our visit, I was even more upset to hear rumors that the attraction is being restyled to include characters from Disney movies. What was wrong with the old Dutch girls in clogs?
Of course, it's easy to be cynical about Disneyland. Yes, it's expensive, stressful, and teeming with wannabe princesses. And, yes, the Buzz Lightyear ride deposits you in a gift shop stocked with Pixar merchandise. And even though Anaheim isn't exactly a Tuscan village, our vacation still felt magical. Experiencing it as an adult was refreshing in a way I hadn't expected—I've rarely been anywhere that feels so democratic, with people of every age, race, and background thrown in the same lines together, with the sole purpose of having a blast. And I loved witnessing Carlos's blossoming sense of daring and adventure, watching him and his father laughing hysterically as they zoomed through the air on the Astro Orbitor. Here, even more so than in real life, my son was free to find out what amazed him and what scared him. For a few days, he got to do nothing but revel in wonder.
On our last night, my husband and I found ourselves in a similar position. With the kids passed out and my mother-in-law asleep in the adjoining room, we snuck out to the park, just the two of us and tens of thousands of Orange County teenagers. We started at my husband's beloved Matterhorn. We held hands as the line snaked along, realizing that in our 10-year relationship, we had never been on a roller coaster together. As our car lurched forward and began its ascent up the first hill, I clutched his hand and screamed. I screamed out of fear. I screamed because it feels great to scream when you've been with children nonstop for days. But most of all, I screamed because I was deliriously, unabashedly happy.
Next Page: Where to Stay & What to Eat
