The One with the Fib

Most families have an indescribably good time in Disney. Most families have unbeatable bonding experiences and memorable, Kodak moments to take home from a vacation in the most magical place on Earth. My family doesn’t vacation like most families.

In 2003, my whole family flew south for school vacation. This was my third trip to Disney World and my parents’ and sister’s first. My dad hates crowds, my mom hates confined spaces and not being next to a pool for several hours, my sister has motion sickness and is allergic to everything but Minnie Mouse, my grandfather had just turned 70 and my grandma considers Pirates of the Caribbean an all out thrill ride.

Much to my expectations, the family wasn’t too into my detailed itinerary and enjoyed more of a, “let’s just sit on a bench eating ice cream and watch other people have fun” sort of approach. Attempting a ride or attraction led to my sister throwing up, my grandma flirting with Prince Charming and my grandfather feeding an alligator a hot dog—apparently, to my grandfather, the giant “DO NOT FEED THE ANIMALS” sign read, “We like hot dogs, extra mustard.”

Sometimes, to get people to do things, you need to stretch the truth a little. A tiny cricket told Pinocchio that lying bad—that cricket obviously never took a trip to Disney with a difficult family. As we ran through Frontier Land in the Magic Kingdom, my sister and I saw the one thing more exciting than a rare sighting of Donald Duck—a short line for Splash Mountain. On average, this water ride has one of the longest wait times. When you see a line shorter than two hours, you ride Splash Mountain that very moment. My mother had avoided almost every ride, wishing she were by our hotel’s pool instead. She had promised us all that she would at least go on this family friendly-log ride style attraction. As my sister, father and I sprinted to the end of the line, my mom veered off saying she needed to go to the bathroom first. “Peter, I really have to go,” she told my father with a stern look. “But this is a line that leads to the bathrooms,” my father blatantly lied. “I thought they were--” my mother was cut off as my father said, “No really this way. Hurry, the line is moving.”

We hopped into the line and as other people hurried to catch up with us, my mother noticed that maybe we weren’t in line for the bathroom after all. “Peter, where are we going?” she asked. He comforted my mother with, “Oh don’t worry. We’ll be on and off the ride before you know it”