Waxing Nostalgic

Looking a little further forward, my family and I have planned a trip to Disney World in February. A lot of my greatest memories come from Disneyland/World: Losing a tooth on a frozen banana; A soggy trip to the airport followed by 2 weeks of illness; losing my Goofy hat in the Haunted Mansion; the day a friendly train conductor tried to convince me to take his job - the list goes on. But one of my most treasured memories is of the time I pulled the Sword from the Stone in Fantasyland.

Every day (in fact, several times a day), a large procession marches through Fantasyland toward the carousel. Merlin and a host of castle guards come to the sword to test the crowd and see if there is one among them with the heart of a king, one who can pull the sword from the stone.

This particular day, my brother had headed off by himself to hit some rides while I was with my parents. Derrill was late for our rendezvous, allowing us time to watch the Sword ceremony. I watched as Merlin called forth brawny, burly men to pull the sword while a royal band played a strength-inspiring tune. The large men with their bulging brawn pulled until their faces turned purple, but to no avail - the sword didn't budge.

I, being a somewhat impetuous lad (I believe I was somewhere in the vicinity of 8 years old at the time) began flexing my non-existent muscles to the guards who stood by the side. One of them called to Merlin that he should try this lad and I was summoned forth.

I stood before the stone with my beloved Donald Duck hat perched on my eager head as the band struck up their tune. I tugged and pulled and heaved . . . and nothing happened. As the band began to die away, Merlin announced that he still felt that I had the heart of a king and that all I needed was a bit of magic to help me find my courage. He waved his want and cast his spell, then told me to try again. I gripped the sword and gave a determined, white-knuckled heave on the magical blade's hilt as the band began again. After a moment, the sword rose - only a few inches, of course - and the band struck a triumphal note.

As I grinned proudly, Merlin bustled me to the front of the crowd declared that I was to be crowned King of the Late Afternoon. He opened a large chest and removed a shining crown, then removed my Donald Duck hat and tossed it casually into the chest. I shouted in protest that it was mine as tears washed my cheeks, thinking my hat would be locked away in that chest. Merlin quickly assured me that I would get it back and told me to smile for a waiting camera. My parents still have that momento of our trip, a picture of their tear-streaked little boy smiling sheepishly with a crown on his head.