Special Moments

December always feels like the busiest month of the year, almost as though I’ve avoided eleven months of work so I can try to squeeze them the four paltry weeks we have left before the calendar changes to the new year. It happens to me every cycle, and in most cases, it’s just a psychological lie — for when I do ultimately look back at everything I’ve accomplished over the past three-hundred-plus days, it’s generally pretty impressive. There are times, though, when I’ve been unable to do that one thing I’d truly hoped to pull off; it’s not often, but it did occur last year.

My wife and I knew that my mother was going to be celebrating a milestone birthday, so early in 2024 we began plotting how we might make it even more special. Seeing as though she was the one who introduced me to Disney as a kid, one idea that kept circulating between us was treating her to a weekend at Disneyland; it felt especially poignant for the timing would be very close to the anniversary of the first time we’d taken her to the park that, as a kid, she’d watched Walt build on his television show back in 1954. Reservations were made and the plans were essentially set — and then had to be scrubbed at the very last minute when our trusty 2010 Prius became anything but and required an immediate replacement. As incredibly understanding as my mother was over having to cancel the trip, we never let go of the idea and kept it on the back burner until such time as the vacation kitty had been recharged enough to finally pull it off.

Thanks to some careful planning, we managed to re-book the trip in late August and “surprise” my mother with her birthday gift a second time; Mom and I hit road in mid-December and landed at the park for two days of delight, accented by a liberal sprinkling of memories from a shared lifetime of Disney enjoyment. Granted, things had changed since that first time we’d visited Disneyland as a family; it was far busier, of course, and we won’t get into the crazy level of inflation the twenty ounce bottles of water they sell seem to have experienced. Getting around the park was a bit more deliberate, too, for despite Walt’s best intentions, hustling from ride to ride can often lead to logging more miles than you expect (or intend), shifting the day from one of joyous adventure to that of pure exhaustion.

As often as I visit the parks myself, I was startled when the two of us realized she hadn’t been out to California since Disneyland celebrated its 50th year; that her latest foray happened in the midst of their 70th truly underscored just how much time had passed. It felt especially acute to me, for as we rode the rides that had been her favorites two decades earlier, all I could see in my mind’s eye were the younger versions of the two of us, racing from experience to experience that very first time we’d gone to California. Then, in a flash, I found myself reliving our first time at Disney World in the late 1990s — a trip that she had long wanted to do but had been impossible when my brothers and I were growing up. I’d had the exuberance of a twenty-something; she, the childish delight of finally realizing a dream that had been languishing since Walt introduced the concept all those years earlier. That trip was special on a number of levels, but now has taken a back seat to the long weekend we shared this year.

We covered quite a bit of ground over the course of three days; the food was, as always, exquisite, and it was a delight to share some of my more recent finds with Mom. Our conversations were wide ranging and equally as delightful, covering territory beyond the day-to-day chats we normally enjoy. Her perspective on the parks — especially given how many years had intervened since her last visit — was unexpected, and added to the experience in ways that I will treasure forever. All too soon, though, we were back in the car, headed home to Tucson and the reality of our lives in Arizona.

Still, for the first time I found myself seriously wondering where all the time had gone. I’m a bit agog — even now, as I write this — that it had been twenty years since the last time we’d travelled together; in many ways, I found myself suddenly wishing to capture the moment in amber, or to pin the current versions of ourselves to this point in time, never to age beyond it. Neither option is possible, of course, for outside of my fiction, the world belligerently continues to march forward to the future in a timely fashion. Unlike some, I am fortunate to be able to see my mother on a daily basis, but that, too, has hidden from me just how quickly the years have flown by.

I’m glad we were able to pull off the trip, albeit a year later than expected; I know she enjoyed the experience immensely, and the two of us created more memories we’ll treasure forever.