Disclaimer: By now, my memories of the details of our visit to Disneyland are cloaked in a muddled haze. Thus rather than bore you with an unrelenting travelogue, I’ll focus on specific incidents of note for the remainder of my tale.
Southern California in the summer time is hot. Hot and dry. And though it was a mere 88 degrees during most of the time we were there, to us cold, damp, mildew-laden Oregonians, it was like the tandoori oven of the Devil.
We got overheated pretty quickly. In particular, Michael and his mommy suffered. This is why I bought that spray bottle fan I mentioned earlier. It worked great… but it was an insufficient and temporary defense against the sweltering combination of continual walking, scorching heat, direct sun and bare pavement.
There were refuges to be had, fortunately, and we took advantage of all of them. The carousel theater building, now Innoventions, was a cool respite. It showcased the “home of the future,” a Microsoft-inspired version of what a house would be like if everything ran under Windows (“Look at me! I can make the lights bright or dim by touching this computer screen! Amazing!”). The dark rides, inside buildings and out of the sun, were also great for sitting and cooling off.
But the net effect was that by the end of the day, we were wrung out anyway.
Which meant we were bound for trouble when we finally had to come to the tram.
This is the little golf cart-like train that takes crowds from the main entrance to the “Mickey and Friends” parking structure, where approximately nineteen billion cars are parked.
And this being the Happiest Place on Earth, naturally everyone was entirely selfish, busting past old ladies and little children to get their wide rear-ends onto the tram first. Between the crowding, the pushing, the rushing and the waiting around for the next tram, we had ourselves a human Petri dish of pent up ire.
Which brings us to the wrath that was wrought upon us by our own little four-year-old.
You see, not much earlier, Michael had insisted that he “needed” a flashing LED necklace. He needed it. So, in order to keep him from exploding, I bought it.
But we had more exploring to do before we left; just a few more rides and things to squeeze in before time to leave. This gave him enough time to notice something else that he had to have. This new bauble was a flashing colored ball on the end of a stick. It would blink all colors of the rainbow in various patterns. Very cool. I would have given my right arm to have one of those as a kid. But, he’d already gotten the necklace thing. Sorry, kid. Not this time.
Bad strategy, dad.
By the time we got to the tram line, he was whining and crying big time.
“I neeeeed it! But I neeeeeeed it! I waaaaant the baaaaaaaall!” he cried.
Michael was over heated, over stimulated, dehydrated, over tired and not happy to be leaving Disneyland at all, especially without that ball.
As we finally boarded the tram in a heaving crush of humanity, Michael’s Mommy made it into the seat ahead and I dragged Michael up into the seat with me.
He bucked and kicked and screamed, writhed and wriggled and cried incoherently.
He was at that stage that any parent would recognize: the beyond hope stage. This is the point where a kid can’t calm himself down even if he wanted to; the tantrum has taken a life of its own.
Finally, through the wailing and gnashing of teeth, I heard him say that he wanted to be with his mommy. I figured he’d be too tired at this point to do anything but be soothed by her, so I handed him up and over the seat to her.
Then the tram started moving, off to the parking structure.
And then Michael started in afresh with his tirade.
For his mom, he began kicking and screaming and writhing and bucking.
I watched from behind as she tried to console him at first, and then tried merely to restrain him, and finally tried unsuccessfully just to protect herself from him.
I’ve never witnessed such blind, ferocious fury from such a little person. He threw punches, kicked at her, scratched her and bit.
His little face was contorted with rage. His teeth clenched and lips drawn back in a hideous snarl as he dug his little talons into his mother’s shoulder.
I was too far away to do anything but watch helplessly as we traveled on.
He continued his attack, his mom eventually regaining control as he ran out of steam.
When we got to the parking structure and disembarked the tram, I took him back and held him over my shoulder, letting him release the last of his anger on me.
His mom looked visibly wounded. She had deep scratches on her shoulder and neck, and deep bite marks around the ball of her thumb, which by the next day had developed into a large, angry, purple welt.
He fell asleep in the car on the way back to the hotel, and didn’t wake up when we laid him in bed. The next day, he was right as rain and apologetic toward his battle-scarred mother.
The next day we made sure to keep him hydrated, shaded and fed as much as possible. But that evening he began a tantrum anyway. This time, I held him myself. Hard and fast, so he could not get his arms loose to cause any damage to himself or me. I didn’t hurt him, and I spoke soothing words to let him know that everything was okay and he could be calm if he wanted, but I kept him restrained.
He finally stopped fighting and calmed down, then went to sleep before we even got to the car.
Next time we go, it’s going to be in the late fall or winter. And we’re not taking that tram.
