Over the past two weeks, we’ve visited a Disney theme park no less than nine times, excluding a few trips to Disney Springs. People talk about being inside the Disney bubble, and I can certainly understand this. It can create a false reality, change your behaviour patterns, and separate you from your hard-earned cash with ruthless efficiency. Although we’ve spent a pretty penny, and consciously so, we haven’t spent the entire time inside the bubble. The fact that we are not staying on property at a Disney resort or hotel means we’ve had the flexibility to live just outside the bubble, popping in and out as we pleased. Today represents our last full day enveloped by the Disney bubble. The plan today was to go back to Hollywood Studios, which, by now, means a fourth visit to that park since arriving. Clearly, this has been our favourite of all the Disney theme parks.
After a spot of homemade breakfast and after prying the children loose from their cocoons, Sandy had decided that it would be Jae’s day today. Joey has garnered a lot of our attention over the past couple of weeks (as is the norm), so she felt it would be a good idea to let Jae make some of the decisions about what to do today. I thought this was a fantastic idea.
The rough plan of attack was to spend the late afternoon and evening at the theme park, starting slowly. Jae decided she wanted us to stop at a Chick-fil-A for some quick lunch on the way to the park. The first we stopped at was a drive-through only, with no indoor seating, so we drove to another. For reasons not entirely clear at first, Joey was in a classic non-cooperative mood today. It would take until near the breaking point to determine the trigger on this particular occasion (just once, I’d like a stress-free day), but we finally discovered that to be a dislike he had of Jae’s choice of lunch venue. It was Jae’s day, so we weren’t giving up on her choice of venue, electing instead to allow Joey to sit stubbornly in the car while the rest of us went in to eat. The tension in the air was palpable. Jae started pointing out how unfair it was that Joey’s mood would once again spoil the atmosphere. “Great!” she said, gesturing with her hands palms up and starting to look deflated, “Now this is going to spoil the whole day for me.” She was right, and I truly felt for her in that moment. I did my best to avoid a shrug of acknowledgement. But despite knowing that, I calmly pointed out in a soft and neutral tone of voice that there really wasn’t much we could do. She knew, as we did, that forcing the issue would only create more stress and tension.
We knew we couldn’t let Joey sit in the car for too long due to the heat. We also knew it was essential to get some food into him to prevent further deterioration in his behaviour. We’re barely out of the house, and already I’m pulling out all the stops to try to manage a potentially disastrous situation from escalating out of control. Bubbles like this one are either gently diffused or explode, leaving tears all around. This one could still go either way.
I went out to the car to see if I could remedy the situation. Joey was still being stubbornly non-communicative, so I offered him some potential options. Success would boil down to how I framed it. I could have threatened to take him home as a disciplinary measure, but that would have been a one-way street shortcut to meltdownville. Hard as it may be for onlookers to comprehend, discipline has proven to be a wholly ineffective tool in our arsenal. Instead, I suggested we could drop Mum and Jae off at the park while he and I spent some time at home. At this point, he reached his arm out to pull mine close to him for a cuddle. He was softening—overcoming his inability to communicate, which was a good sign. I spoke softly and non-judgmentally with him, trying desperately to avoid pushing, to get him to open up about whatever today’s trigger was. After a few agonisingly frustrating minutes (I swear, Sandy and I deserve Nobel Peace Prizes for patience), it came out. He didn’t like the food at Chick-fil-A. I offered to drive him up the road to a nearby Waffle House or Maccas. Using his barely perceptible shaking and nodding language, we settled on Maccas. I radioed this through to Sandy, who was happy with the compromise, and we drove off. Jae would get her choice after all, and Joey would get something to eat. This was as good as we were going to get, but I’ll take it.
We doubled back to pick up the women after Joey had eaten his fill, and we proceeded with the day’s plan to tackle Hollywood Studios one more time.
Inside the park, we split immediately into pairs. Sandy went off to have some fun with Jae on the Tower of Terror and Rock ‘n’ Rollercoaster, while Joey and I made a beeline for the Star Wars Galaxy’s Edge section of the park, after putting a DAS return request in for Rise of the Resistance.
As always, Joey had several of his toys with him. Today, he was wearing one of his many lightsabers and his Ren mask, which he put on and off throughout the day. He also brought one of the Savis’ lightsaber hilts, which we needed to have looked at. The thread wasn’t securing the components in place and was constantly loosening.
On the way to Galaxy’s Edge, I noticed the white boat on the lake that doubled as a quick-service restaurant. Joey enjoyed the hot dogs there before, so I seized the opportunity to get more food into him, hoping it would further improve his disposition. He ate the hot dog in silence, choosing to ignore anything I asked. My strategy was to give him a wide berth until he, hopefully, perked up after eating. So far, the strategy was still looking promising, but another half hour or so might tell. For now, he was still grumpy and sullen.
When we reached Savi’s, I pointed out the issue with the lightsaber to one of the cast members there. They were terrific and had no problems inspecting and, eventually, exchanging the afflicted parts for fully functional ones. Whether it was his relief at finally fixing his lightsaber or whether it was the food kicking in, Joey’s balloon was finally inflating again. The difference was like night and day. He was suddenly chatty, pointing out starships up on the rocks we’d not previously spotted, explaining the different constituent parts of lightsabers and whose was which shape and colour, etc. I felt vindicated—not to mention relieved. What might easily have been a total disaster had now turned around into a win. Chalk another victory up for the strategy of patience and a gentle approach. Be gone with you, impatience, frustration, and discipline. Unsuccessful tactics like yours are not welcome here!
So relieved was I that Joey was functioning normally again, I did some mental gymnastics to figure out what I could spend today on him. He had been wearing his Ren mask and commented several times over the past week that he would have made a different choice when we were here previously, buying one of those expensive lightsaber hilts. Had he known he was going to acquire the Ren mask, he would have chosen the accompanying lightsaber hilt instead. He was still happy to have bought the one he did, but the ‘I’m disappointed that this is out of my reach’ realisation, writ large across his face and demeanour, was palpable. These things aren’t cheap, but this was clearly important to Joey. Getting the accompanying hilt would complete the set. It was clear this was very far up his wish list, and equally clear he realised it was out of his grasp. Since this was the last time we would visit here—possibly ever—I hatched a plan in my mind. We queued up for our turn to speak to the cast member behind the display cabinet. When we got there, I hit Joey with the surprise. Providing he would promise to try to be more communicative with us the next time he’s in one of his ruts, and providing he realises this is mainly coming out of his own weekly allowance from when we’re at home, I would let him get the hilt. The wide-eyed look of sudden realisation on his face when the penny dropped was worth everything I’d gone through today. He even tried to explain how he has little control over his emotions when he’s sad, but that he would at least try. I was so very proud of him in that moment. The fact that he could verbalise his recognition of what’s happening inside his head in those moments felt like a massive step forward. It was enough to dispel my doubts about the potential pitfalls of rewarding negative behaviour—a moment of weakness. Was it the right thing to do? Who knows. I’m constantly asking myself whether I’m doing the right thing. Sometimes, you have to throw the dice and live with the consequences. In that moment, we were both happy. Let’s enjoy it while it lasts.
Joey’s new lightsaber hilt was naked without a light. That was another $50, which Joey immediately concluded was now well outside the bounds of possible. There it was again—that ‘I really need it but can’t have it’ expression. I nodded to the cast member, who instinctively seemed to read the situation perfectly. This purchase would be for me, I rationalised. I tapped my phone to make a payment and suggested to Joey that we leave before I do anything else stupid.
By now, our Rise of the Resistance ride awaited. Once again, it was a thrilling experience. However, once again, parts of the pre-show elements were not functioning. This time, we skipped over the shuttlecraft takeoff portion and walked through a non-themed corridor and into the next chamber via a side door.
We bounced around from one Star Wars attraction to the next throughout the afternoon and early evening. Joey was in his element—chatty, engaged, and interactive. I used one of my usual tactics to great effect: stating something slightly wrong, like mispronouncing a name or getting a Star Wars lore detail wrong. Joey latches onto these things immediately, never missing an opportunity to correct me. When he’s in a good mood, there’s nothing he likes more than to get one over on his dad, so I manufacture those opportunities for him constantly. Fortunately, half the time I don’t need to do any manufacturing. Even when I’m mostly correct, I‘m still partially wrong. I swear, this boy is like a walking encyclopaedia with near-savant-like knowledge of anything to do with Beyblades, Transformers, Star Wars, and a handful of other special interests. Of course, that doesn’t stop me from trying to maintain the façade that I’m never wrong, which Joey gleefully challenges constantly. For the Star Tours ride, we were fortunate enough to experience yet another variation of the ride story we hadn’t previously encountered, which was great.
Our final ride of the night was the Smuggler’s Run attraction. This was no less thrilling, as we got a chance to be engineers this time around. In each shuttle run, two pilots control the shuttle’s direction, two gunners fire weapons, and two engineers repair shuttle systems whenever we sustain enemy fire. For us engineers, we just had to hit specific buttons whenever they lit up. It was a fun ride to be sure, but catastrophe struck when we emerged into the park again. Joey had one of his lightsabers dangling from a clip around his waist. It had dislodged during the ride without him noticing. It was now missing. This sent Joey into an immediate blind panic. I said to just ask one of the cast members, but he was so overwhelmed he couldn’t. I mentioned the lost property to one of the half dozen cast members at the entrance. They all immediately leapt into character. This must be a routine event for them, as they were evidently already aware someone had left something behind, and immediately set about putting Joey at ease. “Someone from The Resistance would be here soon to reunite you with your lost credits.” It was a short five-minute wait, but for Joey, those were five agonising minutes.
Over the past couple of weeks, I had been wanting to find the right opportunity to see the Hollywood Studios evening Fantasmic show. Today seemed like the ideal time to do so, but Joey’s bucket was now reaching full again. It had been an intense day for various reasons, and the park was crowded with unrelenting stimuli coming at us from all directions. After repeated discussions with Sandy at the other end of the park through the evening, we decided I would take Joey home. Sandy and Jae would grab an Uber, since they hadn’t had their fill of fun quite yet.
Joey and I made it back to the car and ultimately back home. After a quick shower and more phone calls with the girls, we agreed that Joey would stay home while I drove back to pick them up. The timing is right for me to park the car (I was free to do so, having already paid once today) and pop in to watch the show. The girls still elected not to join me, but this would likely be the last opportunity, and I couldn’t miss it. I was hemming and hawing all through the drive about whether I would or wouldn’t. I made the go decision just as I was pulling into the car park.
It was quite the jaunt from parking spot to tram to ticket stiles to the entrance to the Hollywood Hills Amphitheater, not far from the Tower of Terror. I was out of puff by the time I got there and found a spot on one of the terraced benches.
I had a lovely unobstructed view from the centre section about halfway up—just about perfect. The show was incredible and everything I had expected and hoped for. As was the case with yesterday’s Cirque du Soleil show, I think the writer in me really appreciates the show’s storytelling, which is one of the things Disney excels at. Once again, I was able to steal a few moments and lose—even if only briefly—in the fantasy world. There were a few moments throughout the show when Mickey, the show’s star, suddenly appeared out of nowhere to please the crowd and/or save the day, to rapturous cheering and applause. I couldn’t help but draw the parallels with me saving the day with my family—trying to keep the peace, advocating for others, ensuring everyone was happy. Of course, there’s rarely any rapturous applause for me. Oftentimes, I have to settle for the absence of worsening conflict or for maintaining the status quo. But that’s OK. That’s sometimes the best that Mums and Dads of kids on the spectrum can expect. We’re happy with a positive, but sometimes we’ll gladly settle for the absence of a negative as well. The situation with the Chick-fil-A lunch, the missing lightsaber hilt, the careful balancing act to keep Joey on an even keel: these are all examples of this phenomenon playing out—all part of an average day for us. Just like Fantasmic was the perfect end of an imperfect day, we’re happy if we get to make it all the way to the end of the day with our sanity intact. This is how you know you’ve survived the Disney bubble: when survival feels like victory.