Disneyland Dads
After three days of Disneyland indoctrination, a high on $5 spicy corn dogs, obscene amounts of churro, and Radiator Springs racing, there is something I must say:
I have gone and witnessed something I didn’t know existed and it would be unfair for me not to share: there is a man breed I was heretofore unacquainted with but am now wholly invested in observing and sharing with the world. I call them: Disneyland Dads.
HAVE YOU HEARD OF DISNEYLAND DADS
Of course the happiest place on earth is bursting with parents with the best intentions, all there to share an idyllic vacation with the kiddos and ride that long-awaited favorite ride from childhood. But, from the second we raced into the park at the stroke of 8:00 am, I knew I was among parents with more poise, grace, and Mickey know-how than any fanatical, but helpful, Disneyland obsessed blogger I researched before our trip: Disneyland Dads.
1. Baseball caps, check.
2. Sunscreen sheen, check. (Also a nicely scented sunscreen that others can *just* catch a hint of when waiting in line by each other.)
3. Sensible shoes, check. (But still kind of cool like Vans or Converse or sweet Cloudfoam Nikes.)
I watched in awe as they sidestepped collision and maneuvered around doddling toddlers, lovesick honeymooners, and guests you know have to be local because nobody pays that much to just chill. They confidently strolled into men’s bathrooms with double wide jogging strollers, pink Mickey balloons strapped to the handle. They knew where the shade was, where the best corn dog cart parked in early afternoon, and which way to lean on Grizzly Run to avoid the The Geyser at the end. They grabbed autographs and got better pics than the Disney photographer. They reserved popular but kid-friendly lunch places and knew the best spot for fireworks.
I never saw one refer to a paper map, or the Disneyland app map, or honestly, even look at their phone. The only explanation is a deep knowledge and gut instinct for line length and seasonal ride popularity variation.
THEY ALSO SMELL GOOD
I watched them wrangle little sisters Elsa and Anna as Timmy posed with Buzz, or sport an outward-facing cherub on the front and that clever little Chewy backpack on the back. One dad refilled a water bottle while negotiating FastPass strategy with his tween even as he rocked an umbrella stroller with a sleeping Stitch nestled inside. As I linked the three points of their family triangle, I felt a tight pang at the undeniable cuteness of the scene. I’m a parent. I can be cute with my kids too. But why was this Disneyland Dad so extra cute when I was also on my own cute family-fun-time-surprise-trip with my own two boys?
Why were these male parents at the happiest place on earth standing out so much more than their female counterparts, like myself? Was I awarding bonus points to parents at Disney simply because they had XY and I didn’t expect them to be so, how do I say this: Amaaazing at Disneyland? Was I being a bit sexist by being so blown away by Disneyland Dads??
MaxPass wielding, kid steering, classic grey Disney tee-wearing Disneyland Dads.
I can only share the evidence I collected over three days and $96 spent on random bits and bobbles and turkey legs and say that I have never seen amusement park parents of any configuration operate at the level Disneyland Dads appeared to operate at, at Disneyland. My observations may have been made under the fog of Dole Whips and the expectations of a once in a lifetime trip, but this is what I saw.
IS THIS A SECRET CLUB OR WHAT
Many of them seemed to even know each other, passing by with a knowing nod. I stared, hoping to catch a glimpse of a secret handshake or common ironic pin on their backpacks, something. But nothing.
Just men with children owning Disneyland, and me, in questionable bermuda shorts, phone in hand, trying to keep the magic alive for my two excited sons, wishing for a way in.
