I’m getting kicked out of Disney World.
“Security is on its way, sir.”
The Disney employee is a skinny little twerp, more nondescript than clean cut. He looks to be college age, early twenties at the oldest. I’m confident I can kick his ass. I stand near the exit of the “It’s a Small World” ride, the Disney employee blocking my path.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say.
At the end of the ride, when our boat approached the final turn and just as that Orwellian menagerie of psychotic singing puppets faded from view, a bright flash went off. I noticed everyone screaming and gesticulating, so I got creative when the flash illuminated our boat. Only when we rounded that final turn and saw the massive white screen perched above the canal did I realize what was coming—a larger-than-life projected image of an eighteen-year-old-kid in a Notre Dame tank top giving the “It’s A Small World” crowd of parents, pre-teens and toddlers…the finger.
Laura stands beside me, holding my hand. She’s crying. I’m trying to reassure her. “Don’t worry, babe. This is all one big fucking joke.”
The nondescript guy gives me another look. “Kindly refrain from that language while you remain in the park, sir.”
Laura won’t stop crying. “Just apologize, Hank. Or at least be nice until your parents get off the ride and can talk to him.”
Mom and Dad love Laura now, more than I love Laura. They insisted I invite her along for summer vacation or, as Mom declared it, “The last real family vacation with all my babies.” She’s such a melodramatic freak.
The end of high school came and went—spring break, Senior Prom, graduation, all that shit. After going almost an entire school year without coming home, Laura spent much of April back in Empire Ridge and then came back again for a weekend in May so we could finally get our prom night together. I made it onto the prom court, securing the Jock bloc and most of the Future Farmers of America, but I didn’t have enough of the hood or bandie vote to snag the kingship. I skipped the after-prom party at Martin Neff’s house because Beth was there. She and Hatch went to prom as friends. I lied and said I wasn’t jealous. Hatch came to my house the next day crying because Claire lost her virginity to Bobbie the hockey player.
Graduation was a blur. I got drunk out of my mind on the last day of school. It was Hatch’s bright fucking idea to raid my parents’ liquor cabinet and mix everything that was clear into one giant Thermos. Several reliable witnesses informed me later I was conscious, there were balloons, and I appeared to be having a good time. I gave the senior speech at commencement, making a less-than-veiled reference to my arrest that earned a standing ovation from the senior class, a tepid laugh from the crowd, and a look of disgust on my principal’s face that I will forever cherish. My father got drunk for the third time in his entire life at my graduation party. He kept shouting to everyone who would listen that he wasn’t drunk as long as he could say “Johnny Mathis,” right up until he burned off both eyebrows and all his forearm hair while grilling hamburgers and bratwurst.
Today is our first day at Disney World, and I’m exceptionally grumpy after yesterday’s seventeen-hour road trip from Empire Ridge. At the last second this morning, literally as we stepped on the tram in front of our hotel, we decided to go to Magic Kingdom instead of Epcot. And by we I mean we took a vote, and I was overruled, which has made me even grumpier.
Mom and Dad arrive at the exit of the ride. Dad steps into the fray. “Excuse me, this here’s my son, and I apologize for his actions. In his defense, he didn’t know he was being photographed.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell—”
Dad holds up his hand. “Look, I can vouch for him being a decent kid, and you have my word he’ll be on his best behavior as long as he’s anywhere in Disney World—Magic Kingdom, Epcot, MGM, anywhere.”
There is a tenuous silence, apart from the not-so-distant chorus of multiracial animatronics. Mr. Indistinct steps aside. “Thank you for the explanation, sir. Just tell your son to watch himself. This is a family park, and we intend to keep it that way.”
“Understood.” Dad grabs me by the elbow. “Let’s go, son.”
We exit the ride to the stares of a hundred pairs of presumptuous eyes waiting in line. Apparently, they need to get in one last good dose of uninformed judgment before the cleansing redemptive power of “It’s A Small World.”
Laura pats my father on the back. “Thanks, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
“What are you thanking him for?” I say. “I had everything under control.”
“Son, I wouldn’t call getting banned from Disney World having ‘everything under control.’” Dad laughs. “But it was worth it.”
Mom slaps Dad in the chest. “John Henry Fitzpatrick!”
“What? You gotta admit, that was funny stuff.” He makes a goofy face, raises both hands in the air, striking my same on-camera pose. Dad being Dad, he raises his two middle knuckles.