What I Miss

Place: Disney World  Age: 6   Location: Orlando FLorida

Careening through the streets, over sidewalks, bumping along cobblestones, smelling cotton candy and buttered popcorn, hearing giddy laughed, feeling as if my stomach was going to burst. This was “Babyland,” a game my father created for my brother and myself. Both my brother and I were strapped into a two-person baby carriage, far to big to actually be in it, but managing just the same. My father would run behind us, pushing the cart through the streets of the happiest place on Earth, laughing as loudly as we were, chanting “babbbbbbylandddd!” We’d soar into the air off the curb, laughing while in mid-air, only to laugh harder as the carriage bottomed out on the asphalt and cobblestone, occasionally picking up pieces of freshly chewed gum. Neon and fiber-optic lights would stream by our faces, as my dad would run us parallel to the Electro-Light Parade, our faces clearly visible in the reflections on the floats. My dad would have his visor backwards, tanned skin growing even darker in the glow of the parade, his mustache curved around his childish grin as he listened to the raucous giggling of his children. My brother was a mirror image of myself; grinning ear to ear, hands held above his head, screaming in a pitch that was higher than his then nine-year old body should be able to make. His skin was always dark. Much more so than mine has ever been. Friends and family refer to it as dirt, sometimes even as chocolate. In the dark of “Babyland”, he seemed at times invisible, skin fading into the night around me, only declaring his presence with a high pitched squawk. His huge rimmed glasses sat on his face like giant round windows, jiggling up and down constantly as the wheels of our carriage careened over the asphalt. He wore the same tight fighting neon shirts as myself, Goofy waving from his chest smiling in a way only my brother could match at the time, engaged in “Babyland”. This event would go on for what seemed like hours until the carriage would pull back into station next to the bench my mother was sitting on watching us from. Hoping out of carriage, we’d both run over to hug my mother, giggling the entire time. We would then hold both her hands, each of us on one side, as we’d stroll towards the exit of the park. My mother is a strikingly beautiful woman. Slightly curly, yet wavy hair extends to her neck, glasses allowing her to see in front of her. Her skin was dark like my brother’s, and mine with a leathery complexion. She could bask in the sun the entire day without complaint. As we strolled towards the exit of the park to begin our journey back to out hotel she’d tell us stories of how when she was younger she would do every ride at the park, that she was a real firecracker. Unfortunately now she could do very little that involved jarring movements of her next, due to a horrible car accident when I was young which permanently damaged the vertebrae in her neck. The nights were filled with laughter, love, and excitement. My father would stroll alongside of us, chirping in at my mother’s stories, skipping occasionally as he was as excited as my brother and I were and was enjoying himself twice as much. Every night we looked forward to this.  Every night it was better than the last.