Disney World junkie

I love me some Disney World. I do. I worked there as a participant in the College Program, and I proudly display my Ducktorate Degree framed at my desk at my current job. I had such a fun time last year with my person, Heath, and her 40th birthday trip to the Land of the Mouse, and came home talking about how great a time it was, Dipsey and Mama decided to take the whole Venable Clan to Disney World for Christmas.

It was wonderful. So much fun.

And walking into the theme park did indeed bring back a flood of memories.

But something this time was different. And it got me thinking.

Of all those children I helped make magic for all those years ago. And some of them were rapt with delight. Some weren't. And some were scared by what was going on, especially so when they realized that they'd wandered off and mom and dad weren't in sight.

I got to know "lost little kid" horror stare real well. Every kid reacts the same. Looking at each face, desperate to recognize someone - anyone! - and frighted of so many strangers surrounding them.

I knew what to do. Most parents will tell their child in the event that they get separated to find someone with a name tag and ask for help. So I'd walk up to and increasingly freaking out child, smile and point to my name tag and make sure he or she knew I worked there and I was going to help them find their parent. Ice cream sometimes helped too.

But that name tag was always the ticket. I once had a frightened child running away from another employee stop short when he saw my name tag and trusted me enough to let me pick him up. Every time it worked - that name tag meant I was here to help, and every child trusted me to help him or her back to mom and dad.

By the way, parents will never thank you for finding their lost child. They're too relieved for anything but maybe a desperate "thank you!" as they clutch their found little duckling closer to their chest, promising themselves that next time they will be more vigilant.

Back to this vacation. Walking in the park. Looking down to the little girl gleefully clutching my hand, eager for her day to begin at Disney with her Auntie. To the first child that ever held my heart in his hand, ready to don a Jedi robe and light saber duel Darth Vader. To the child who, quite soon, will be my step-daughter, whose care and concern are increasingly becoming more and more my care, concern and responsibility.

And with a lump in my throat, I bent down and whispered, "Guys, if anyone gets lost, find someone with a name tag on. They'll help you get back to us."

my handprint from the great movie ride, twenty years later.