As I sat one afternoon waiting for a parade to begin in the Magic Kingdom, I was talking with my three year old grandson, Caleb, and I suddenly realized that sitting down, I was just about his height. What was it he was seeing? I snapped the picture on the right. He was seeing lots and lots of legs. Nondescript legs. Some had jeans, some were bare to the length of their shorts. How in the world can a child be absolutely sure he has the right pair belonging to his own parent?
Actually I ran into that problem with our youngest, Annalise (18 months). She desperately wanted into t
he arms of the man standing next to me who had an almost identical red striped Polo shirt as my son. "Sorry, honey," I soothed, "right shirt, wrong daddy."
he arms of the man standing next to me who had an almost identical red striped Polo shirt as my son. "Sorry, honey," I soothed, "right shirt, wrong daddy."
Imagine meeting the Disney characters when you are three and only about three feet tall. That would be like one of us at six feet tall looking up at a furry costumed giant of 12 feet or more. "And they want me to turn around with my back to this guy and smile?!"
The kids do catch a break in the restrooms. Disney is one of the most handicapped friendly places I've ever seen. There are lots of low sinks where a three year old can feel like giant as he washes his hands and reaches for towels.
I applaud the pluckiness of three year olds. Although there's a little fear and trepidation, they plod ahead and stretch their imaginations and their anxiety levels. Disney's counting on it.
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