A Prologue of Sorts

School never really felt like school when my parents came to the classroom with me. Granted, this only ever happened in elementary school, but it still felt like a great way to break up the monotony of learning how to subtract numbers from one another and learning that the pilgrims were supposedly great people who were just trying to grow some corn.

One particular occasion when my parents accompanied me to class was due to first grade classes at Leicester Primary School celebrating Career Day. We were encouraged to talk about what we wanted to be when we grew up, in equal measure with our parents talking about their own careers.

Judging by the lack of buzz cuts in the room, it seemed like none of the parents were astronauts, which was perhaps a harbinger that the lofty ambitions of their children were not necessarily likely. In addition to the hopeful space explorers, our classroom was filled with students dressed as chefs, professional athletes, ballerinas, and other such jobs that were not possessed by our caretakers.

With my parents by my side, I felt proud to sport a plaid button down shirt tucked into khaki pants. I had a badge hanging around my neck with my name on it and a plastic black newsboy hat to which I had taped a piece of paper checkered with Sharpie. I was dressed as a cab driver.

I am not sure exactly why I wanted to be a cab driver. It’s not like I was itching to get my driver’s license and besides, I had no idea what the profession would actually entail. Perhaps that’s why I was interested in it. In my mind, I would get a front seat all to myself and I wouldn’t be required to talk to anyone besides a cursory, Jane Lynch-esque, “Where ya going?” Presumably, the glove compartment would be my own and in there, I could keep a diary and a few of my favorite action figures, like Homer Simpson and Buzz Lightyear. The concept of Travis Bickle, much like Lyft and Uber, was still over a decade away for me. (I wonder if Bickle, similar to another Scorsese anti-hero, always wanted to be a taxi driver as far back as he could remember. I hope my first grade teacher didn’t think the same.) My idea of a taxi driver was shaped entirely by the opening segment of the Animal Crossing video game.

It was a simple enough costume to throw together, at that, and there wasn’t much to the job besides driving. I don’t recall what my speech consisted of, but it surely could not have gone on longer than two or three minutes. How much is there really to say about taxis? Ultimately, I think my selection as a cab driver was an arbitrary one made hastily, in retaliation for the fact that everyone would have expected me to say I wanted to work at Walt Disney World and not in Queens. It was one book that always gave that away about me.

 

My experience as a reader was shaped by nonfiction in my formative years. Every night before bed, I made a ritual out of reading one segment per night from three different books. One episode description from Bart Andrews’ The I Love Lucy Book. I’d read one before bed to work my way through the show. One daily recap of a previous year in sports from the 2006 edition of Sports Illustrated’s annual almanac. And there was the Birnbaum guide to Walt Disney World, of which I would read about one theme park attraction before bed.

Those Birnbaum books were tomes to me. They cover every possible detail you could ever want to learn about Walt Disney World, if that is an educational topic that intrigues you. From the resorts to the theme parks to Mickey’s Very Merry Christmas Party to even the small popcorn wagons that dotted the areas of each land. It was a Disney nerd’s biggest fantasy. A way of connecting to the parks even when hundreds of miles away from them.

I carried the 2007 edition of the Birnbaum book with me wherever I’d go. Even when giving a speech about my lifelong dream of driving angry New Yorkers to the airport, all I could think about was reading the next page of the Birnbaum guide, which was waiting for me in my cubby. Oh, cool. Ryan wants to be a cowboy when he grows up. Do I have any thoughts on that? Well, the agricultural industry is dying so Ryan might be better off looking into business management. That’s where the money is now. Besides, the only cowboys I’ve ever seen are in Frontierland at the Magic Kingdom. That reminds me. Can I go back to reading now, please?

Everyone knew I loved Disney. A teaching aid told me that I was only a fan of the Orlando Magic basketball team because of how much I loved Disney. For my elementary school enrichment program, I wrote a poem about Disney World that was later published in a poetry collection to honor young writers. But most of all, my obsession was identifiable because of Birnbaum.

The book was my biblical support system when a countdown calendar was erected in my upstairs hallway one November. For Thanksgiving in fourth grade, I flew to Florida with my sister and my parents to celebrate the holiday with Aunt Jacki and Uncle Lee, as well as our cousins, Ginny and Kristy, and Ginny’s then-fiancee Jason. Eager with anticipation, my sister and I would cross off one day each night.

When you are a kid, though, time passes much slower. After all, if you’ve only been alive for nine years, certain periods of time take up much more space in your memory. The more years you experience, however, the shorter a year seems to become. At nine years old, a twenty-five day countdown calendar is interminable. I might have gone insane without Birnbaum as an outlet to project my rabid obsession onto. It enabled me to prepare myself for the Magic Kingdom’s Christmas party so I could be as equipped with tips and tricks for my parents as possible.

I knew how short the ride times would be. I knew what time the event started. I knew there were two Christmas parades and one Christmas fireworks display. And every bit of knowledge helped drag me closer to the eventual date of our special, four o’clock in the morning flight down the east coast from Boston to Orlando.

But one bit of information I had missed was the fact that many of the Magic Kingdom’s quick service restaurants gave out free cookies, apple juice, and hot chocolate during the evening’s festivities. It’s probably for the best that this knowledge was kept from me because if I had learned it in, say, mid-November, I might have exploded into a pile of tinsel.

What offer could be more enticing to a child than the idea that Disney World was going to give him sugar for free?

There is no better offer and so it was that the four of us observed the sign that read, “Holiday Treats at Cosmic Ray’s Starlight Cafe” and we agreed unanimously that, yes, this would have to be the next stop on our journey through the park.

After waiting in line in a similar formation to our pattern during Career Day, my parents and I found ourselves engaged in conversation with the man who was providing us with the holiday treats.

“You work here?” I asked him, with wide eyes and dilated pupils.

“Yeah, little man,” he said, almost effortlessly. He immediately became a role model to me.

“I want to work here,” I told him. The National Taxi Workers’ Alliance would be appalled to hear it.

“Well, when you get a little older, look into the Disney College Program. That’s how I got this job.”

After this, I left with my parents, still giddy about the idea that the line had moved so quickly and that a station like that existed in the first place. Cinderella Castle, festooned entirely with crystals of ice shimmered right in our direction. Our entire surroundings practically began to burst with garland and tinsel and the voice of Bing Crosby. We glided through the air, a harmonious blend between the warmth of the season and the chill of Florida in a winter evening. Snow began to fall down on Main Street, blanketing the guests in a soft, white glisten. We shared snow with one another and marveled at the tropical climate-turned winter wonderland. The entirety of Main Street broke out into festivities, as if we were the two sides of the Christmas Truce in World War I. Many danced, many drank hot cocoa, many exchanged Christmas cards. The jingle of sleigh bells cascaded throughout as I continued to float across the buildings, designed entirely for show, and made my home among them. I felt at peace with the snow and the words, “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire.” It pervaded every semblance of my surroundings and when I locked eyes with my family, we agreed that the park would look better from the top of Cinderella Castle.

Over the years, many obsessions passed through my psyche. The Fantastic Four, Friends, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the Davidson Wildcats. But none of them ever stayed, not as permanently and as closely to my heart as Disney has. The Birnbaum book remains on my shelf with its tattered, tape-clad cover. My family returned to Disney a couple more times after this, turning it into a lovable tradition. And when I eventually grew old enough to have a laptop of my own, my Internet browser always included a bookmark for the website for the Disney College Program. As the idea of going to university became reality, the bookmark received more attention. It was a university-based program that allowed college students to work at Disney World for money and for college credits. That sounded like an ideal way to spend a semester, even if my peers would be looking into Dublin, Ireland or Melbourne, Australia.

With my obsession towards Disney, I was taught that dreams could come to you if you wished for them. I wasn’t ready to leave this dream to chance, however. Lacking a plan and knowledge of anything except for the fact that this was the one passion of mine that never faded away over time, I was ready to work hard and dream big. The college-aged kid who had given me a cup of apple juice demanded it. An upstart innovator from Missouri demanded it. I demanded it.

Image Source: Walt Disney World