It's A World of Laughter, a World of Tears, a World of Hope, & a World of Fears

A few months ago my sister Molli told me that our mother Sally wanted us all to go to Disney World in Orlando, Florida, because Maggi, our other sibling, and Molli’s twin, has a conference there for work. She is an athletic trainer at a high school in Baltimore. When I say “us all”, I mean Maggi and Molli, my mother Sally, and Vince, my partner. I told Vince he didn’t have to go. He said he thought I would need the emotional support. He followed that up with saying he wouldn’t miss witnessing it for the world. Lately, I’ve been working on having a low-key light smile on my face as a neutral setting.

Minus Vince, we all previously went to Disney when my parents were still together, in the early 80s. I think this was our only trip that involved a plane. We didn’t travel a lot to different places, we usually just went to Rehoboth Beach in Delaware, an easy drive. We stayed at a Disney hotel with some dorm-like vibes, connected to the park by maybe a monorail, a beautiful version of the future of transportation before we had Reagan for a solid eight years. I don’t recall any major fights. It had to be nice for my mother to go to a place where my father wasn’t running book. Maybe we felt like an All-American Family.

And now we’re going again, because my mother busted her ass to raise us, so it meaningful when she asks for something like this. I don’t have a great track record of showing up for my family in a casual way. I’m all about weddings and funerals, but I tend to work on holidays, I can’t get to the Memorial Day party, and I generally don’t like togetherness. All of these parts of me make going to this place in Orlando, Florida, honestly a state I could go to the grave to without visiting again, a challenge. But I will do it, because my mother wants us to.

None of us have children. My mother asks to be seated away from tables with children in restaurant. I think school is out, for most of the nation, so I imagine families will be there. En masse. I don’t hate children, but I don’t necessarily care for them, or want to spend a lot of time around other people’s kids. I have actively lived my life when it has been of my own decision making avoiding mainstream America. What can I say, I’m not a fan. Lately, I’ve been working on having a low-key light smile on my face as a neutral setting.

I don’t own a pair of sneakers, the past few pairs were too puffy. That feels bad, like something I need to fix. I don’t wear shorts in public, but I did buy a pair to wear by a swimming pool in an attempt to seem casual and not too weird. When it is hot out, I have two modes—dress like I always do; pants, shirt, boots, or like I’m in a cult, loose, flowing, nothing touching the body. But I think the cult I’m going to, Disney! America! is probably prefab jean shorts, t-shirt, multi-colored sneaker.

Something about family always brings out the eye-rolling teenager, the sighing, the put-upon, the disgruntle. I consider my BAD SEED t-shirt, I’m sure I have a DUMP TRUMP or something about ABORTION!, some message tee made from an unappealing blend of fibers that don’t breathe, give, stretch, or feel or look good. I know the feel well, almost every single metal and indie band from the past 40 years have used Gildan as their supplier. This fabric is best for midwestern fall winter and spring nights, but not Orlando, Florida walk around on cement or ten hours in 90 degree heat.

I don’t need to send messages to anyone, I don’t need to participate in that contention. This is Disney after all, not the county fair. The best thing I can do is wear my stress-purchased affordable linen clothing that toes the line between an Eileen Fisher Meet Me in the Hamptons Collection and Steve Nicks Is My Godmother Closet. Don’t be confrontational, Millicent. Don’t be confrontational. Neutral face. Neutral face. Wait, better than neutral face. Don’t have dead eyes at everyone. Just be cool, casual, and breezy. Let the sweat and the animosity wick off the body and mind with natural fiber. The greatest revenge is not being miserable.

I also have klonopin, prescribed by a nurse practitioner who seems a little concerned about this trip. I’m not totally embracing it, yet!, but my intense reaction has evaporated a bit as time has passed. It’s called acceptance, and it turns out I require a few months for it to settle in. I know I’m giving my money to a terrible place¹, but I also know it means a lot to my mother.

It dawns on me that I probably need a fanny pack.

Sigh.

1. I draw the line at Sea World. What can I say, values in action.