Magic
October 24, 1999
3:24 p.m.
The concrete path was wet. It had rained much of the day, not a bad rain, just a steady, good old rain, not too cold or anything. My feet were wet, but not uncomfortable. I wore a too small rain poncho that used to be Brigid's--it's a long story. It was Thursday night. The time was maybe seven o'clock at night, and it was just barely beginning to be really dark. Behind us, the Epcot fountain had just finished ringing in the time. Brigid walked ahead with one of those invisible dog leashes, letting the invisible dog she had just bought with $4 of her "own" money lead her along the path. People walked by, asking her about its name and whether it was a poodle or not. For the record, the dog's name is "Kitty", and no, it's a black lab. Lisa looked at me, he eyes wide and at their most beautiful. "This has been great," she said. And it had been.   Disney does not do animals well. Nor, really does it do movie stuff. By this I mean that Disney's Animal Kingdom is really not well laid out (it can't decide if it's a theme park or a zoo, so it fails at both), and that MGM Studios doesn't really do much that you can't find at Universal Studios (and Universal probably does them better). What Disney does best lay right in the borderline between reality and fantasy. No. What Disney does best IS that neverland, that gray space between the hard pavement and hot sun. It's the Magic Kingdom, where kids see new things with every turn of their heads, and where an adult can't help but eventually revert back to the children they were. I dare you to sit through Peter Pan's Flight without smiling. I can't believe you can stand inside Cinderella's castle without imagining the sparkle of fairy dust coming from a magic wand. Yes, Disney is a wallet vacuum. Yes, there are advertisements at every turn. And yes, I saw people rushing through the parks at madcap speed that would probably have a different tale to tell than I will. But Disney, at its root, sells everything that is right in the world. It sells stories of good triumphing over evil. It sells persistence, and patience. It rewards those that can take a perspective of openness and tolerance. Disney, at its best, is about understanding. By unanimous consensus, Epcot center was the choice of the family. We stayed at the Beach Club resort, which happens to be right next to Epcot. And we went there four times if you count the two times we returned from other parks via the Epcot monorail. It's split into two sections, Future World, and the World Showcase. Future World is really quite cool. We toured it the first day, and loved it. But in the end, I think it is the World Showcase that is the heart and soul of the place. It's a big, round path that is populated by areas dedicated to various places around the globe. The Disney people who staff each of them are from the home countries, and the food is (as far as I can tell) authentic. If the Magic Kingdom is the happiest place on earth, then Epcot center is surely the most joyous. At no time is that more apparent than in the park's last two hours of operation, during which, the World Showcase plays host to a massive parade, and then a laserlight and fireworks show. Both of these events are beyond compare. But my favorite is the parade--known as the Tapestry of Nations. It is truly beyond my capability to describe it. Young men and women of all nationalities give life to puppets that are 15-20 feet tall. They dance through the streets, greeting people, getting children to dance with them in flowing robes and wings and flags of red and blue and white. The dancers sing to the music, a powerful statement almost of itself. They smile as the audience stares in wonder. Drummers are spaced between the dancers and the puppets. The first time I watched it (of the three that we saw), I could not believe how I felt. My insides grew beyond my skin, and I just smiled--I could not stop. At first I thought I was alone in that feeling. Then I saw a woman dancing. And I saw a man probably 45 years old with a bristly gray-black mustache smiling so hard I thought he was going to cry. A puppet stooped to touch a kid from the sky, the puppeteer was latin in origin, sweating from his exertions, but smiling. Light danced in the kid's eyes, sparkling with wonder. The kid's mother's expression matched her son's. It was like that each of the three times. People sang to the music. The words are a chant, almost African (or maybe truly African, I don't know). People hummed. And they swayed in the rhythm. Men and women along the path stopped what they were doing and gazed transfixed. The street smelled of that gray area that is so much of what Disney is made of, magic, fairy dust. The parade filled the entire circle, and suddenly it was as if the entire park was together, held for that moment in a suspended sense of awe. Then the circle broke, and the dancers filed out, performing the entire way. The crowd followed them through the street. When the parade was over, people applauded. But the applause was different than the applause for a mere performance. The applause is one of righteousness, one of true desire. One that says we are together in this world, and one that says "Yes, that is how it needs to be." And that is what I will take back from this past week. That, and the look in Brigid's face as she lead her dog, humming to herself in the rain, and the wide expanse of Lisa's eyes as she said "This has been great," and the way my tired legs didn't feel so tired after I nodded my head and replied. "Yep," I said. "It has been great." And it was.  Daily Persistence is © Ron Collins |
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"Never forget that it all started with a mouse." Walt Disney |
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