Writing about our son's first trip to Disneyland brought back memories of my first trip there. I was eight years old and in third grade. Our dad couldn't get Spring Break off from work, so Mom and Dad took us out of school in February for two weeks—the first and the last time they did that. I missed out on learning long division and it took me a while to recover at school. In fact, it took us all awhile to recover from that vacation.
The six of us rattled down Interstate 5 in our old Ford Fairlane two-door with the embarrassingly loud muffler (and no seatbelts or headrests)...
The six of us rattled down Interstate 5 in our old Ford Fairlane two-door with the embarrassingly loud muffler (and no seatbelts or headrests)...
While Dad drove, Mom tried to relax and let precocious four-year-old Dalene entertain us with song, dance, and stretch bra commercials. Dalene had a captive audience in the backseat. That was seven-year-old Ally, ten-year-old "Princess Carol," and me. Yeah, Carol ruled the backseat, and when she felt like sprawling out, she'd relegate Ally and me to each side of the hump on the floor.
The Princess never missed a chance to tease Ally and me. When we’d stand up to rat her out, she’d give us a tug by the seat of our pants, we’d sit down to keep our pants on, she’d giggle, we’d laugh in spite of ourselves and the whole process would start over. I'm not sure why we suckered for it every time, but I guess it kept us entertained while Dalene napped.
I admired Carol's devotion to her spiral journal—her assignment for missing two weeks of fifth grade—where she'd scrawl in her beautiful cursive: "Dear Magic Maltshake..." She didn't have much to write about on the way to California, though I remember Dad kicking us out of the car to run a block or two when he'd tire of our backseat wrestling. And there was the spotting of our first palm tree and the funny feeling of sticking to the hot vinyl seats when we got to southern California—a new experience for us, coming from the moderate climate of Portland, Oregon.
The Princess never missed a chance to tease Ally and me. When we’d stand up to rat her out, she’d give us a tug by the seat of our pants, we’d sit down to keep our pants on, she’d giggle, we’d laugh in spite of ourselves and the whole process would start over. I'm not sure why we suckered for it every time, but I guess it kept us entertained while Dalene napped.
I admired Carol's devotion to her spiral journal—her assignment for missing two weeks of fifth grade—where she'd scrawl in her beautiful cursive: "Dear Magic Maltshake..." She didn't have much to write about on the way to California, though I remember Dad kicking us out of the car to run a block or two when he'd tire of our backseat wrestling. And there was the spotting of our first palm tree and the funny feeling of sticking to the hot vinyl seats when we got to southern California—a new experience for us, coming from the moderate climate of Portland, Oregon.
Mom's and Dad's plan was to save on expenses by staying with Uncle Jack and his family in Altadena. Dad didn’t believe in major credit cards—that would be spending money we didn't have. I think Mom tried to prepare us for what lay ahead by telling us about Jack’s junk-hauling business. What Mom neglected to tell us was that Jack hauled most of the junk home. There were aisles in his home between stacks of stuff—it was like walking through a maze. And Uncle Jack had his ideas about nutrition. He put wheatgerm on our cereal and made us vitamin "milkshakes."
On the plus side, Jack had ponies! That was really something for us city girls. Now that I think about it, Jack lived in the city too. I'm not sure what his neighbors thought or if it was even legal, but we begged for turns to ride those ponies.
On the plus side, Jack had ponies! That was really something for us city girls. Now that I think about it, Jack lived in the city too. I'm not sure what his neighbors thought or if it was even legal, but we begged for turns to ride those ponies.
We hadn't been at Jack’s long before he and Mom got into it. Something about Jack thinking Dalene was too old for bedtime diapers and Mom thinking it wasn’t any of his business. And though we'd started out shyly with our cousins, it take long before we were fighting with them like they were siblings. We ended up moving to a motel with a Big Boy restaurant on site, which was great fun for us kids. We loved the novelty of motel life and sitting at a counter in a restaurant. The only problem—the motel and meals weren't in our budget.
Mom and Jack reconciled long enough for a trip to Disneyland, where Jack hid some sandwiches in a diaper bag. When we entered the park, we got caught with the contraband. Even though we’d just eaten breakfast, we pre-ate lunch so we wouldn’t have to pay for the over-priced food inside.
Disneyland proved magical and Knott’s Berry Farm didn't disappoint. But it was the trip home that turned into the real adventure, when Princess Carol became Queen Carol and Mom and Dad ran low on cash. The plan was to avoid a night's motel cost by driving up Highway 101 in two days instead of three. That meant we could see the Redwoods during daylight before driving straight through the night to Portland.
Disneyland proved magical and Knott’s Berry Farm didn't disappoint. But it was the trip home that turned into the real adventure, when Princess Carol became Queen Carol and Mom and Dad ran low on cash. The plan was to avoid a night's motel cost by driving up Highway 101 in two days instead of three. That meant we could see the Redwoods during daylight before driving straight through the night to Portland.
As we approached the California border, the trees got bigger and bigger—the Redwoods were truly impressive. But it wasn't long before it started getting dark, lonely, and downright spooky. In fact, we'd traveled a creepy half hour without seeing a single headlight when we saw what looked like an accident up ahead. As we got closer to the amber lights we could make out the sign: Bridge out due to flood – Ferry 7 am to 6 pm. Now what? It was midnight. None of us wanted to wait out there in the middle of nowhere.
Dad turned us around and we headed back to sleeping Eureka, arriving about one o'clock in the morning. (Either we'd missed a sign in Eureka, or they hadn't posted one—we'll never know.) The six of us tried to sleep in the car, but it didn't take long before Mom had had enough. With Ally and Dalene in tow, Mom found a late night bowling alley where she had a blast sharing our story and leftover hot dogs with the friendly owner.
Meanwhile, Carol and I fought for space up front while Dad tried to stretch his 6'4" frame out in back. I'd finally fallen asleep when a policeman came by and scared me silly. I was sure he was going to arrest us, but he was just wondering what an eight-year-old was doing behind the wheel of a car. After listening to our story, the cop offered to let us sleep on some mats in the police gymnasium.
I woke up the next morning—disoriented, embarrassed, grateful, and... rested. After thanking the police chief for hospitality beyond the call of duty, we got to our next order of business—breakfast. Mom and Dad pooled their resources: three dollars plus a Mobil gas card.
There was a new development. Carol was relieved to find out her "severe acne breakout" had been re-diagnosed as a case of the measles. Ally and I offered up the backseat for the rest of the trip—we were happy to oblige, now that Carol had an excuse for her queenly behavior (and by then we were used to the floor anyway). While Carol rested in the car, the five of us trooped into a restaurant.
As Mom and Dad pored over the menu trying to figure out how to feed a family of six on three dollars, a young waitress overheard our plight. She quietly offered us a loan of ten dollars. Mom and Dad refused. The waitress insisted—she'd grown up in a big family like ours. I'll never forget how sweet that glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice tasted and after eating our fill, we got lumps in our throats as we thanked the waitress for her generosity and trust.
As the familiar bridges and hills of Portland came into view, we smiled and breathed sighs of relief. Carol was thrilled. She had loads of great stuff for her journal: eccentric Uncle Jack, our brushes with the law at Disneyland and in Eureka, her outbreak of measles, the flood damage and ferry ride.
Queen Carol had even more to write about after we got home—her subjects came down with the measles and ended up on another week of "vacation."
Dad turned us around and we headed back to sleeping Eureka, arriving about one o'clock in the morning. (Either we'd missed a sign in Eureka, or they hadn't posted one—we'll never know.) The six of us tried to sleep in the car, but it didn't take long before Mom had had enough. With Ally and Dalene in tow, Mom found a late night bowling alley where she had a blast sharing our story and leftover hot dogs with the friendly owner.
Meanwhile, Carol and I fought for space up front while Dad tried to stretch his 6'4" frame out in back. I'd finally fallen asleep when a policeman came by and scared me silly. I was sure he was going to arrest us, but he was just wondering what an eight-year-old was doing behind the wheel of a car. After listening to our story, the cop offered to let us sleep on some mats in the police gymnasium.
I woke up the next morning—disoriented, embarrassed, grateful, and... rested. After thanking the police chief for hospitality beyond the call of duty, we got to our next order of business—breakfast. Mom and Dad pooled their resources: three dollars plus a Mobil gas card.
There was a new development. Carol was relieved to find out her "severe acne breakout" had been re-diagnosed as a case of the measles. Ally and I offered up the backseat for the rest of the trip—we were happy to oblige, now that Carol had an excuse for her queenly behavior (and by then we were used to the floor anyway). While Carol rested in the car, the five of us trooped into a restaurant.
As Mom and Dad pored over the menu trying to figure out how to feed a family of six on three dollars, a young waitress overheard our plight. She quietly offered us a loan of ten dollars. Mom and Dad refused. The waitress insisted—she'd grown up in a big family like ours. I'll never forget how sweet that glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice tasted and after eating our fill, we got lumps in our throats as we thanked the waitress for her generosity and trust.
As the familiar bridges and hills of Portland came into view, we smiled and breathed sighs of relief. Carol was thrilled. She had loads of great stuff for her journal: eccentric Uncle Jack, our brushes with the law at Disneyland and in Eureka, her outbreak of measles, the flood damage and ferry ride.
Queen Carol had even more to write about after we got home—her subjects came down with the measles and ended up on another week of "vacation."