I read somewhere once that every person stops their emotional development at a certain stage of their childhood and they remain emotionally at that age for their entire lives.

I’m fairly sure this is true of most people and I am totally sure that it is true of me. I just can’t figure out if my emotional development stopped at age eight, or age thirteen.

It doesn’t really matter, I am pretty much a child. As long as I can feed myself and protect myself from a storm, I guess that it is OK to be an eight year old in a thirty-nine year old body.

I went to Disneyland yesterday. The land where people like me (emotionally retarded freaks?) feel happy and at peace with the world.

I love Disneyland. It is beyond all reason. I always loved Disneyland as a kid, and when I grew up and they added Downtown Disney with all it’s bars and restaurants and a cocktail was only a Monorail Ride away, I loved Disneyland even more. When I am at Disneyland, the eight year old and the thirteen year old inside of me get to rage in the open air.

“I’m going to ride the Matterhorn THREE TIMES” I scream to no one in particular. When, the first time, the ride breaks down right when I am about to board, I get a look on my face like I am going to kill someone. “Does this happen often?” I ask the dirndle skirted kicker offer. “All the time,” she says, smiling torturously. Bleeping eighteen year old – who does she think she is?

It all works out in the end though and I ride all the rides and run around and eat pretzels, pizza and fudge. There are fireworks and swing bands and emotionally retarded people everywhere.

I get to be a brat at Disneyland, too. After dodging one too many SUV sized strollers, I get a bit pissy and the thirteen year old comes out. At closing time, heading for Downtown Disney, a crazed woman comes toward me at a high speed with a giant stroller with a seven year old and a four year old in it. (I am estimating the ages, but you get the idea.) “JESUS!!!” I say. “WATCH IT!!!” I am doing this purely to screw with her – it is midnight and she is pushing 200 pounds of stroller and children. “YOU WATCH IT!!!” She screams back, totally stressed and aggravated. Hee hee.

What is up with all the strollers, anyway? No wonder kids are so fat – they get pushed around in the comfort zone until they are nine. I am serious. I thought strollers were for babies, or at least no-one older than three.

But me being me, I wish I could get pushed around in a stroller. And since I am only eight, perhaps I will get my wish someday.

This entry was posted on Sunday, May 23rd, 2004 at 8:26 pm and is filed under Tales from a Strange Land. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.