"The person who experiences the consequences should make the decision.”
James Clear
“A serious surfer doesn’t plan to go surfing next Tuesday at 2 o’clock. You go surfing when there are waves and wind and the tide is right.”
Yvon Chouinard
We did the Disney trip too late.
But, truth be told, is there ever a perfect time to do it?
A lot of people would argue the perfect time is never - my wife being one of them!
Her reluctance was a key reason why we ended up going at a far less-than-ideal time, long after I’d originally suggested it.
So why was it so bad? Or rather, why wasn’t it good? For starters, we brought along our almost 12-year-old daughter—12 going on 16, when it comes to sass, apathy, and ironclad opinions.
With this, I have to take a bucket of responsibility. I knew it was a stretch to be taking her at this age - but I was hoping that the thrill-rides and the overall spectacle would help overshadow the younger skew of the experience.
It didn't!
As troublesome and perhaps more surprising, was the resistance we ran into with both my boys. Their reaction to rollercoasters spanned from mild complaint to full-blown terror.
We proactively deceived all 3 of them to get them onto the Space Mountain attraction. This ride had a special place in my heart - with memories of queuing for hours during my own childhood visit to the same park in 1989.
The official Disney photo didn’t quite capture the boys’ terror - but the silence during the ride did. With the exception, of course, of the collective scream of “F@#!” as we whipped through the dark. After that, nothing. They wouldn’t speak to us for a while. And for one of them, that was the last rollercoaster—full stop.
We managed to persuade our other son onto one more rollercoaster the following morning - the Slinky Dog Dash @ Hollywood Studios. But his mild trepidation as we waited in line was soon displaced by fear-induced silence during the ride. So, by the end of hour 1, day 2, our boys were done with rollercoasters.
Despite the chaos, I had moments of deep nostalgia—standing in parts of the park I hadn’t seen in 30 years. I messaged my mum and asked her to dig up photos from our 1989 trip. When she sent them through, a rush of memories hit me. Oddly enough, I don’t recall being as grumpy or hesitant as my kids.
Generally, I pride myself on having an optimistic view of life. But by the end of our Disney escapade, I felt genuinely flat.
The park’s abysmal dining options didn’t help. Watching families hand their kids 20oz sugar-laden sodas for breakfast at our hotel’s grab-and-go spot was jarring. The “Mickey Waffles” were so tasteless that even my kids rejected them. The eggs and sausages looked like they came straight from a plastic play kitchen. My search for anything remotely healthy became a saga in itself—worthy of a Disney feature, minus the happy ending.
But it wasn’t just the food or disappointed kids that left a sour taste. The sheer cost of everything gnawed at me. $6 for three mandarins—the only fresh snack I found in three days—or $5 for Dasani “premium” tap water. Forget about refilling bottles; sure, there were fountains, but angling your bottle to get even a 65% fill required a physics degree.
Every day was a grind from the start. Waking the kids at 6:15am to make the 7:15am park arrival time was a battle. Maybe Day 1 had a flicker of enthusiasm. But by Day 2, we were in full survival mode.
On our first morning we tried to take advantage of our early park access by riding one of the top attractions using the so called “Stand-By” line. I would come to learn that this is a strange Disney concept which in the rest of the world is just known as the line.
This tactic backfired on us as the ride was delayed in opening due to technical difficulties.
The early excitement - if there was any - was quickly replaced by
“So what are we doing now?
How long do we have to wait?
What do we have to wait for?”
Star Wars: Rise of the Resistance. One of the most popular rides in the parks, it boasted wait times over 90 minutes. From the immersive queue to the robotic Stormtroopers, the experience felt like Lucasfilm at its absolute best. My youngest ducked for cover during a simulated attack, fully convinced we were under siege. For once, everyone enjoyed themselves.
But the joy was short-lived. My wife had dropped her wallet—complete with all our park tickets and credit cards—during the ride. Twenty anxious minutes baking in the Florida sun while waiting for a staff member to retrieve it nearly undid the afterglow. Thankfully, the Resistance came through.
At dinner on our first night in Disney Springs—aboard a faux paddle steamer—two out of three kids ordered mussels. The third lamented not doing the same when he saw their plates arrive. A brief culinary win and a signal that perhaps we were doing something right as parents….!
What stood out most was the camaraderie with my wife. Despite her deep-seated resistance to the trip, she leaned in. We were united in navigating a holiday that constantly involved being in conflict with at least one child at any given time.
When the kids flat-out refused to ride Tron—one of Magic Kingdom’s most sought-after attractions—we ditched all three of them and rode it together. It was an absolute blast.
This one I rode with my wife and daughter. The boys flat-out refused.
When we emerged, they were in tears—not from being left out, but from worrying something had happened to us. My daughter had been reluctant to join too, wary after our string of minor deceptions to get them onto tougher rides. Her fear was amplified by her brothers’ refusal and the long queue, even with our lightening lane pass.
But watching her fear dissolve into delight as the ride spun to 70s disco—now that was a moment. A true highlight.
I find it hard to be enthusiastic about the trip as a whole.
Sure, there were plenty of moments of happiness, laughter, fun and excitement.
And I am a moments guy - noticing, embracing and savouring everything about them while you can.
But the overarching feeling was of my family not really wanting to be there. Of constant conflict.
Of trying to protect my kids from a processed food overload while navigating non-stop commercial bombardment - and their pleas for just one more plastic toy as once again we exited through the gift shop after every ride.
We’re not Disney people. No tattoos. No matching t-shirts. This wasn’t our 17th visit. Our kids were too old to believe in the fairy tale.
But the fireworks? The fireworks were something else. Even my daughter paused to watch—once.
They reminded me of the fireworks montage at one of my best friend’s weddings—18 minutes of collective awe. The kind of moment we could all agree on.
We left Epcot late into the night on our second day. We visited three parks in two days. My daughter had entered full meltdown mode and stormed off into the crowd.
Despite my simmering anger towards my daughter - it was hard not to appreciate the reaction of our boys. Holding our hands tightly and pulling us along to catch up with Lulu.
When we found her, they made her hold their hands, bringing the family back together.
I’d never seen this in them before. I suppose I have her to thank for it.
I can’t say this was a great trip. It had its moments—but for the most part, it felt like work. More logistics and conflict than fun or connection.
I’ve reflected a lot on whether we simply went too late, or whether Disney just doesn’t suit our energy and interests. I don’t have a conclusive view.
Sometimes in life, we force things that aren’t quite right. Maybe because we’re clinging to an old idea or chasing a goal we think we should want. Something that feels expected.
I wanted to be able to say I took my kids to Disney. I didn’t want them to look back and say, “You never took us.”
So I ticked that box—but at what cost? Beyond the dollars and time—neither of which were insignificant—there was the cost of the tension. The friction. None of it life-altering, but enough to give me pause when planning what comes next.
As we walked out, I crouched next to my youngest son basking in the glow of Epcot’s glowing “golf ball.”
Unprovoked, he said
“Bye bye Disney. See you in 30 years when I come with my kids”.
And perhaps in that moment it was all worth it.
