Disneyland. The large letters hover over the main entrance while my three children eagerly hop off the shuttle and onto the enchanted grounds of the park like the first astronauts to make that small, but dramatic, first step on the moon. They point out their favorite Disney characters, which are printed on the small flags representing each parking sector, and simultaneously shout out their names. Mickey! Woody! Buzz! Pooh! My spouse and I gracefully dismount the white shuttle, our noble steed that had periled through 5 minutes of blistering winds and bad drivers to get us from our hotel to the park, and I remember the Disneyland slogan: The Happiest Place on Earth.
The last time we came to Disneyland was 11 years ago. That was before we left California to live in Texas. Before the silver rush reached my spouse and I’s beautiful caps of black hair. When our youngest son was still on a diet of Gerber sweet potato baby food and our oldest son, Roger, was merely 7 years old, a Power Rangers fanatic, self-proclaimed boyfriend of the Disney character Mulan, and the devoted head of a rebel movement against bed times.
Today, Roger is 18. As I watch him prance with his little brothers to the main entrance, I can’t help but feel happy.
But happiness comes in all sorts of flavors. There’s absolute happiness, like the sweetness of sugar. There’s natural happiness, like the sweetness of fruit. There’s artificial happiness, like the sweetness of diet soda. And then there’s the happiness I feel now: bittersweet, like the aftertaste of a Ghirardelli dark chocolate square, lingering amongst one’s taste buds with its sharp flavor long after the chocolate has dissolved.
I look at him now and I try to find the 7 year old inside his ready-to-start-college-once-summer-break-is-over body. Heck, while I’m at it, I dig deeper and try to find the 3 year old inside him, when Roger went to Disneyland for the first time with just my spouse and I, before his two brothers were even born. When he was 3, he called the park Dizzyland instead of Disneyland. It could have been because the spinning rides made him dizzy or maybe because his tender, Chinese geared, tongue was incapable of pronouncing the crucial “n” in Disneyland. Either way, “Dizzyland” is what our whole family has called the park ever since, even if bystanders confuse us for tourists from China due to our apparent failure in the pronunciation of one of the most sacred landmarks of the world.
As soon as the children pass through the ticket gate, they follow Roger’s lead, their park maps waving in the air like war flags, to the newest or most popular attractions of the park to beat the afternoon rush. Indiana Jones, Pirates of the Caribbean, Space Mountain, all high tech, thrilling rides that take more than an hour each to get to the front of the line, and only 5 minutes at most for the ride to end. During these rides, it’s hard for me to compare Roger to his 3 or 7 year old self, since he never rode these attractions when he was still young, but as we make our way to Fantasy Land, where he spent the majority of his time during his childhood visits, I begin to notice how much he has changed, and how much he has stayed the same.
At the Dumbo the Flying Elephant ride, I remember how 7 year old Roger fought with his little brothers (and won each time) for the joystick that controlled how high the Dumbo would fly as he circled around and around. This time however, he let his little brother control the joystick the entire flight, after he asked politely of course. Despite handing the reins over to his brother, the smile on his face looked no different from when he was a child. Still silly and giggly. Still amazed at the simple magic of a spinning ride in the sky. He had relinquished control of the flight’s path, yet it seemed as if the now unpredictable nature of the ride had only fueled his enjoyment even more.
At the Mad Tea Party ride, I remember how young Roger used to stumble out of our tea cup once it stopped spinning, still wobbly and giddy, immediately demanding that we get back in line for a second round. Although my spouse and I incorporated our finest rhetoric in our attempts to dissuade him from going back in line, since we still had much of the park to explore, we always found ourselves back in our little sky blue tea cup at least another three times before moving on to the next ride. This time however, it was Roger who successfully convinced his little brothers to move on to the next attraction before coming back to this one. The little ones complained at first, but after taking one last picture with Dumbo, they were overjoyed to head over to the Avengers exhibit and meet Thor. 
At night time, while we ride our horses on the King Arthur Carrousel, I remember how tiny 3 year old Roger refused to ride the high bobbing horses and insisted on sitting on the awkwardly placed bench on the spinning platform instead. As he watched other children happily bounce up and down on their horses, he showed no sign of regret, smiling and marveling at the bright lights all around him the entire ride. This time however, he swiftly mounted a horse decorated with red and gold, and mimicked the other young children’s cheering and giggling. However, as soon as the lively music began to play and his horse came to life, time seemed to rewind in the same direction as the spinning platform: counterclockwise. The same, quiet, composed grin spread across his face. In his wonder struck eyes, the reflections of the light bulbs raced around and around, each dot of starlight participating in the same mad game of tag as the others. Right then, I saw my 3 year old baby, finally sitting on a horse, with his gap filled smile and thin black hair, not yet tainted by hair gel and timid strands of gray hair.
It makes me so dizzy to look at Roger. He’s changed so much, yet so little. So contradictory, it makes my head spin. My baby boy, now a young man eager to leave the nest. Some days I’m happy, eager for him to flex his young wings and fly away, only to return home stronger than ever. Other days, I worry for him (What if he comes home next summer with a son? How in the world is he going to get a job with a degree in History? How will he remember to eat his vegetables? What if he sticks his finger in a wall socket?), afraid that he’ll return with missing feathers and a torn wing. Today, I only feel light headed.
Our last ride of the day is the Grand Circle Tour aboard the Disneyland Railroad. As we make our way around the outskirts of the park, tooting through forests and waving at children still waiting in line for rides, I ask Roger “What did you enjoy most today?”
I expect him to say something about how “exhilarating” or “adrenalizing” Space Mountain was. Or maybe how magical it was to see Elsa, Anna, and Olaf, the most recent Disney favorites, followed by the entire park spontaneously bursting into that overplayed “Let It Go” song like a scene from a musical, followed by me crying because I’m not ready to let him go. Instead, he smiles, and says “My favorite part was seeing Mulan in the ‘Mickey and the Magical Map’ show. You know, when she sang the ‘Reflection’ song? I was definitely not expecting to see her at all today. She will forever be my #1 fave Disney princess and wifey.”
And there it is. After four years in high school, surrounded by waves of young beauties and potential girlfriends, Roger’s greatest love is still Mulan, a fictional character from his childhood.
I know now that I haven’t lost my baby yet, and maybe I never will, no matter what. Maybe his coming of age is like a dizzying circle as well. He’s not growing farther away from me on a linear path. Instead, he’s merely traveling around and around his core, spiraling and spiraling around this track field, keeping what he loves about himself, and upgrading the kinks in his personality that could use some fine tuning. Around and around he goes, his character constantly malleable to his core and his surroundings, until he finds who he is meant to be. And after traveling a million miles full circle, he can still look towards the center of himself and say “Hi mom, hi dad.”
When Roger was young, he would always ask “Mommy, Daddy, which ride are we going to next?” My spouse and I would pull out the park map, plan our course, and he would follow. Today however, he was the one who led the way for our entire family.
I trust he can lead himself to happiness for the rest of his life. And although he may get dizzy and stumble along the way, he can always look back to the starting line and see us cheering him on.