tired midwest parents

I had an incredible dream last night about waiting in the queue for the Jungle Cruise in Walt Disney World. The queue was long, and the air was hot and humid as it often is in the Florida Summer. I was packed in with my family and other park attendees about half way through the line. I could smell the warm damp air and the ambient scents of the park and the attractions many props and decorations. My memories built a flawless recreation to virtually exist in for a few brief moments of REM sleep.

The line didn’t move. I just stood there, eyes tracing the tree line and reading into the framed prints and adventure memorabilia as I listened to the faint and slightly echoed old radio sound the classic tracks that make up the Jungle Cruise queue soundtrack.

Benny Goodmans “Moonglow” fades into Dorothy Lamours “Moon Over Burma” and I’m reminded of the power of nostalgia. I think about the minutes I’ve spent waiting to board the “ill-fated” boat ride. Looking forward to the communal shout of “THE BACK SIDE OF WATER!” and hoping to get a solid dry performance out of our Skipper.

This collaboration of music, showmanship, and an incredibly detailed aesthetic sets a tone for some incredibly powerful core memories, if you’re present enough to accept them.

Outside of the dream, seemingly long ago when I actually stood there in that line with my family is another story. It’s in those moments my parental anxiety would set in. I didn’t want to be selfish and ignore the family as I stare off into the distance with an odd dreamy look on my face as the rest of the crowd shuffles past me. I’d look crazy and hold up the line if I actually just stopped there to take it all in. But that’s how I remember. That’s how I slow time for a brief impossible moment to allow myself to record the memory that will come back to me repeatedly as a time stamped happy place.

How can I help the kids have the same moments? Do I need to? I think I’m falling victim to the perception that it’s my responsibility to craft the memories of my kids like I remember them. I feel responsible for pointing out places and moments that meant something to me in life, both at home and when we’re lucky enough to get out and about. I’m painting the picture for them.

Perhaps I should stop at the start. Give them opportunity. Give them experience. Let them find their moments. I don’t want them to have a carbon copied experience of life in my image. I just want to know they’ve crafted these happy little fractions of time around some specific and memorable location.

May whatever sounds and images they’re drawn to project onto their eternal nostalgia machines long into the future, without forced interference from me. They can paint their own pictures. Perhaps I’m more afraid that I’m not going to be a part of the picture that they’re constructing. Irrational as it seems, it’s like I’m more concerned with being the architect of the moment, than just being glad the moment exists.

Disney has created a lot of those magic moments for my family, past and present. I forged a lot of creative bonds and garnered inspiration through a few fortunate trips to the parks during difficult times in my childhood. Similar moments have also come from the local playgrounds. An old friend’s kitchen. The back porch of my grandparents house. Those belong to me.

How can I better get out of the way and just guide my children to find their own? They have already proved to have such rich imaginations that have paired well with a greater drive and curiosity than I possessed at their age.

I’m not sure I have it in me to give up entirely on being the Clark Griswold of a father that I can be sometimes. But I’ll try.

-Tired Midwest Parent