Grandpa and the gang do Disney
The ‘gang’ began developing at Christmastime, when we offered to subsidize a trip to Disney for our youngest grandchildren and their parents during Spring Break. It grew after we invited the Florida branch of the family to think about joining in. The size varied from 7 to 14.
I’d enjoyed our trip to Disney a decade ago with another set of kids and grandkids, and wondered what it would be like this time. I was curious to see how I would handle five ten-hour days of almost constant activity, standing and walking up to seven miles a day. How would my age interfere?
Disney has a new, wireless wrist band system that improves efficiency of every aspect of the experience. For instance, up to three fast passes, appointments for rides and shows, can be made per day. In order to do and see what you want, and minimize waiting times, days can and must be carefully planned. My wife and daughter-in-law spent hours doing that. The planning worked out really well for all of us.
During the week, there were plenty of priceless moments of sharing the sheer joy of being alive with grandkids. One was when we were playing in the pool at our hotel-resort. I was throwing four-year-old Grant into the water for what seemed like the eleventy-ninth time – forward, backward and summersaults over and over again – he grinned, gave me a hug and told me I was the best grandpa.
On the last day I had a couple of hours to myself before the gang-lunch to aimlessly wander around, mingle in the crowd, and watch and listen to the nearly constant array of Disney street entertainers. I discovered that Disney is as much for the elderly as it is for the young.
I found how my age affected me the very first morning, on a clam-shell ride to view simulated wonders under the sea. The shell repeatedly rotated a quarter turn back and forth to view exhibits. When it came time to climb onto a belt moving the same speed as the ride, I lost my balance and went careening into a wall. Besides the terror of not knowing how or where I was going to end up, I skinned several knuckles on my left hand.
Several months ago I’d experienced a couple of weeks of vertigo and, while I no longer feel dizzy, I found that my brain’s circulation hasn’t fully recovered. I also hadn’t heeded my cardinal rule of carefully standing up and planning position changes to protect myself from stumbling. In the excitement of the moment, I’d reverted to automatic behavior, expecting my body to naturally adjust. It didn’t.
I went on several similar rides later and, when the time came to dismount, I’d make a plan. I’d stand carefully, step off with the right foot and use the left hand for support, then move the left foot out with right hand support, looking ahead in case I began losing my balance. Each time, my wife handed me my backpack once I was safely up and walking.
After the goodbyes, as the kids and grandkids were returning to two feet of snow and almost daily flurries in Michigan, we headed for a condo on the Gulf. Watching the surf, with a cold beer in my hand, my mellowness turned to fatigue. I had planned on reading and listening to the surf late into the night, but fell asleep around nine.
During the week, I thought I’d handled the long, busy days quite well. But after it was over I realized age had taken more out of me than I’d thought.
Recent Comments