have taken the hint when Peyton Manning
made no mention of going to Disneyland after winning the Super Bowl.
Last week the whole family went. We arrived in separate cars, of course, because after the summer's RV trip, we know what it's like to be together.
Now I don't like rides. Haven't been on one since I was a youngster and I screamed to my grandfather to hold onto me because I was about to fall out while riding the Bobs, a killer rollercoaster at Chicago's Riverview Park. I'll never forget grandpa's response: "Kid, it's every man for himself."
Twenty-some years ago I took Miss Radio Personality
to Disneyland — long before she had developed a mouth. We walked from one end of the park to the other and looked at all the rides. It's what any parent would do for their kid.
She now talks about being deprived as a child, visiting Disneyland but never going on a ride. I wouldn't be surprised one day to see her on Dr. Phil
Anyway, we got to Disneyland and right away Miss Radio is telling the granddaughter that G.P. won't go on a ride with her. And she wonders why she's not married.
Anything for the granddaughter, of course, so I went. And let me just say I was not the only one who went kicking and screaming onto It's a Small World.
Scariest ride they've probably got at Disneyland, and halfway through the tunnel lined with pygmies, our boat hit rock bottom because we had too many fat people aboard.
Two of our friends from Wisconsin had joined us.
Just imagine sitting there, minute after minute, and hearing that terrifying refrain, "It's a small, small world." And again, "It's a small, small world." And again.
No telling how long we were stuck, boat after boat pulling up behind us, and when we finally did get moving, around every corner there were more pygmies. Biggest darn world I've ever seen.
I'm the grandkid's G.P., of course, so I had to remain brave through the ordeal, although knowing I was probably undergoing the same treatment designed to crack war-time prisoners: "It's a small, small world." "It's a small, small world."
The granddaughter, fortunately, was preoccupied, asking over and over again for "Mow, Mow, Mow." I told her we'd find the furry little critter, and as they continued to play that song, I was thinking of the glue traps I had set in the garage.
We finally made it to safety, and Miss Radio Personality immediately wanted everyone to go on Pirates of the Caribbean. "Daughters Who Want To Get Back At Their Fathers," on the next Dr. Phil.
I went, I was not prepared for the initial dip into the abyss, the water we took on or the wet butt for the rest of the day. The happiest place on earth my … well, we eventually did find the Mow, the granddaughter cried and I think I understand now why Manning called an audible and broke the Super Bowl tradition.