Mark's Pages

August 17, 2004:

One day we took a trip to Disneyland.

He always called it "Dizzyland."

Even the bus ride was an adventure. Sixty miles, seventy miles, whatever it was. The elation of being away from home, no parents, no confines, no decisions made on your behalf. Something like a taste of freedom, maybe.

We loved the offbeat attractions, the older ones. While families queued for the Haunted Mansion we rode It's a Small World, over and over, singing the song, sometimes sitting alone in our own empty boats. Or we spun the Mad Hatter's teacups. Or took the Peter Pan ride over London, or the Monsanto ride where they made you shrink.

There were two girls, having the same day we were. They bumped into us whenever we left the quirky corners we preferred and headed into the crowds. For food, usually. My friend could spot them at distance. I guess they liked us. Once they threw fudgesicle sticks down at us from inside the skyway.

Maybe this was when I began to love the life in motion. All movement implies adventure. Anywhere is better than home.

I wish I had his picture.