Two AM

I try to make very few declarations concerning how I will raise my child(ren). This is due mostly to my knowledge that whatever statement I make will ultimately lead to a good dose of humility or guilt. Therefore I refuse to decide where my child will go to school in six years, I hesitate to insist he (they) will love horseback riding, and don't dare to promise we will take family vacations out of the country. I content myself with assuming only what he will (or defiantly will not) eat for lunch today. Nonetheless, I can recall on several occasions stating firmly that I will never take a toddler to Disney World.

Anyone under the age of 6 in Disney World is sweaty, crying, and so over-full of the sugary bribes to keep quiet and the sugary rewards for so doing that it seems a wonder any parent deems this shimmery amusement park a "privilege" of any sort. Let them call me a Scrooge, I do not like it and I will not partake of it, Sam I am.

Ha. Ha. Ha. Leave it to your pastor to come storming into your preconceived notions and replacing them with Truth. Ahem, leave it to your pastor's Boss. God made me laugh today, and not only at my stupid idea that Disney World is not a place for little children, but at the memories He recalled to prove it.

At a parenting conference put on by our church I listened as my pastor gave advice as to how to raise a family that is a team. He opened with the poignant truth that loving one's spouse is the starting point, the core. He further explained how you and your spouse work in tandem to affirm and raise a family that perseveres together to reach out to the community. One thing he highlighted was the importance of time spent together eating, attending each other's sports games and recitals, and ... vacationing.

Vacationing together, he said, is hard. Most likely the vacation will not go well. What brings the family together will not be the shared moment of marveling at Green Bay Stadium but the eye rolling laughter afterward that you didn't even get to see the inside because it was closed and the only pictures you took (of its entrance) as mementos are now lost because Dad, in his frustration, dropped the camera open and exposed the film on your driveway.

I remember our second trip to Disney World. I was twelve, my sister ten, and my brother two. We packed up the minivan and headed south from Maryland, driving because flying was simply too expensive. With the money saved on flights Dad had promised to take us to a "fun" hotel, maybe a Marriot instead of the Motel 6 we were accustomed to. Ginny and I were giddy--real hotels were like Christmas morning, and we couldn't wait to find ours. After eight or ten hours in the car Dad finally decided it was time for respite, and we began to look for a hotel in South Carolina. After one or two exits and still no vacancies, Dad was getting frustrated and Mom was getting more quiet. You see, there was a motorcycle rally passing us on I-95, and hundreds (maybe thousands?) of motorcyclists were trying to bed down just like us. Somewhere in Georgia the car went completely silent as Ginny closed her eyes or stared out the window, toddler Kyle dozed off blissfully as toddlers do, and I tried to let myself fall asleep uncomfortably against a cold window. Mom's head kept bobbing, and Dad had no exasperated words left to say. We all (well, barring Kyle) wondered if the money saved on flights had really been worth it.

No matter what I did to alter my position, the window did not grow less cold or more comfortable, but I knew better than to try and make conversation with my Dad. So I just stared at him, wondering how long he could stay awake and drive. Then I saw, in a pocket of moonlight, my mom's slender wrist reached across the space between her seat and Dad's. Her mouth was open in silent snoring, but her long fingers periodically squeezed his. I watched their quiet, determined tactic to keep Dad awake and felt like I was witnessing something private. I think that was when I felt like I could let my eldest sister guard down and finally close my eyes.

I remember Disney World being fun that year, and the scent of my Bath and Body Works honeysuckle lotion in our room at Dixie Landings. I remember being happy that we had five days there, instead of two, and taking the elevator to the top of a very high building for one of our fancier dinners in the park. None of my memories, though, are as vivid as the image of my parents' hands entwined in a tired, but committed and loving touch.