Today Ash and I attended Mickey’s Not So Scary Halloween Party. (sic) It’s pretty much the exact opposite of Universal’s Halloween Horror Nights. Instead of haunted houses, Magic Kingdom has trick-or-treating. Instead of creepies in the street, there were rare characters out and about.
It seemed pretty tame. At first. Just like any good horror story the real, more insidious terror took a bit to set in.
As the sun set slowly and the lights on the castle turned a more and more sinister hue, as the music switched from classic childhood jingles to minor-key, pipe-organ driven fugues, the people around us changed.
Every child became a bewitching daemon drooling and with saccharine-crazed deadlit eyes. They bewitched their parents, driving them from their seemingly powerless positions in strollers and princess outfits to acts of devilish deviance typical of the more craven aspects of the night.
Whereas at Universal we had to beware of people dressed as monsters, at the Magic Kingdom, after dark, the monsters dressed as people.
Every parent wants her child to experience the most, to have the best. This is perfectly, and historically, understandable. Lately though, I’ve noticed that parents believe their kids are entitled to the most, the best. And of course, anytime anyone feels entitled, she also feels any behavior required is excusable.
And when what she feels entitled to involves the fruits of her womb, her chance at achievement an redemption, her behavior, she feels, is justifiable.
So but then this is why when a family of ten stops right in front of where we’ve been sitting for fifteen minutes to watch the fireworks, the pater familias and I have to share a few choice words.