A First Trip to Disney

One of my guilty pleasures in life is Disneyland. I had the fortune of visiting several times when I was a kid, often to accompany my grandmother who was a nationally renowned ceramics judge. The artifacts from those trips soon filled my bedroom in many different manifestations, examples including: a map of the park on my bedroom wall that was updated each year with new additions both bad (Mickey's Toontown) and good (Splash Mountain), a Peter Pan hat with my name stitched into it, and a plush animal of the winged furby-like creature from Captain EO. Thinking about it, it seems that Disneyland was the glue that is holding most of my childhood memories together. The trips I took there act as landmarks in my head as I navigate the timeline of my youth.

As childhood habits are hard to drop, it should come as no surprise that I still love Disneyland: a requirement in my spouse was that she would allow me to take her there for a honeymoon (which she did), I listen to recordings of Disneyland songs occasionally when I am working, and I have 2 trips planned there in the next 4 months. But I often wish I could go back to see my reaction after my first trip. I always feel that Disneyland must be too much for any kid to handle -- it is so unlike reality, so amazingly magical. When was it that I was sold on the experience? Did I understand right after my first trip or did it take me a few times through?

My niece Leah recently took her first trip to The Magic Kingdom at Disney World. This story gives me a glimpse of what it must be like to go to a Disney Park for the first time. There is a mix of excitement, fear, and just plain old being a kid.

I Like to Vacation in Crazyland.

I Like to Vacation in Crazyland. from Timothy Koide on Vimeo.

A sense of humor is like a fingerprint. Similarities exist, but never two identical fingerprints or senses of humor. What makes us laugh and where does it come from? Is there a watershed moment when we know what makes us laugh? Is a sense of humor manipulated, or genuinely ours; i.e., as they evolve, do they do so honestly? Does that even make sense? Is there an objective standard that assesses humor like TBS tried so farcically to convince us?
Well, truth be told, I have no idea, but it is interesting to think about. A sense of humor often defines an individual more than family relations, or regional identity (although they are often correlated). It is such a critical part of culture, and an essential component of interpersonal relationships—either to their creation and perpetuation, or to their complete destruction—that we can’t write it off as a joke. Was that funny?
Last Friday the 13th, I had to make a trip down south for work. Breaking the monotony of the drive, my buddy Paul kindly expounded upon the genesis of his flavor of humor. Although we did not definitively answer any of the questions I pose, we did exchange some nice stories, eat a value meal at Carl’s Jr., and make it to LA without crashing. Not very funny.

Where does your sense of humor come from?

A Sunday with Grandma.

A Sunday with Grandma. from Timothy Koide on Vimeo.

Like finding something after years of misplacement, my grandparents' stories never have to be about heroics or some extraordinary event to be significant. Their mere existence qualifies their tremendous value. They are always entertaining. And, although I have heard a lot of those stories, they still keep me at the edge of my seat wanting more. My grandparents are my heroes.

My conversations with them always wander into engaging tangents painted with the colorful regalia of past memories. This video, which features my maternal grandmother, is no exception to that. Grandma’s stories bounce from family memories, WWII era social commentary, her courtship with my granddad, music, and beyond.

I love my grandma. Perhaps it is because she reminds me so much of my own mother. Perhaps it is because she is generally so motherly. Perhaps, it is because her stories are always told with the same raised eyebrows, cute giggle, and smiling eyes. There is a sense of home in every one of them. Or, perhaps, the thing that impresses me and makes me feel a deep sense of reverence for my grandma is her undying love for my granddad. They have been married for 65 years now. No small feat.

This past Sunday I was able to see her, my mom, and my granddad, on an extended trip I had to take for work. Unfortunately, the visit was at a hospital. Nonetheless, we had a great time. After all, what better venue to see my grandma’s love for my granddad at work? At one point, in my granddad’s room, the classic song, “No Two People (Have Ever Been so in Love),” sung by Danny Kaye and Jane Wyman from Hans Christian Andersen, is playing on the big band radio station that my granddad likes. Grandma stares affectionately at him, as if the song is part of their life soundtrack. I thought this scene a rather touching and appropriate portrait of what they have become together.

What are your favorite grandparent stories?

What We Miss From Our Childhood

What We Miss From Our Childhood from Timothy Koide on Vimeo.

We all yearn for something from our past. For me, as well as many other people that I know, that something lurks in the quotidian memories of our childhood, and is usually quantified by an equally common object, place, or person. For my buddy Josh, that common object is one of the greatest postwar suburban children’s phenomena—action figures.

Talking about action figures may seem trite. It may seem that to hold on to something so make-believe trivializes the reality of our childhoods. But, to me, as I think it is to Josh, the make believe world of childhood is what is lasting and important, not the reality. Reality is for our parents, and photo albums. It was, after all, out of the ether of our imaginations that our dreams grew. The same dreams that buoy us today—at least, ideally. At any rate, I still appreciate the child-like imaginations that us aging people can access from time to time. Thanks to Sam (Josh’s son), this video maintains some authenticity in real time, and not just in nostalgic memory, of that imagination.

What do you miss from your childhood?