When we went on Levi’s wish trip, everything was just pristine, everywhere. Disney’s dedication to perfection is legendary, but honestly, it was the same at Give Kids the World, at Universal, and at Sea World. Everything is immaculately groomed.
Understand that my standards of cleanliness have degraded somewhat in recent years. Mostly I’m just happy if my socks don’t actually stick to the kitchen floor. For example, I know that I could stay up tonight and clean the stovetop and mop the floor. But I’d much rather sleep. Besides, the minute I get it really clean, someone tears a bag of quinoa or draws on something with a paint marker that Paul brought home in his pocket after work. What’s the point? I’m just going to power wash the house when they’re both 25.
So the level of care we saw in the parks down there was both impressive and intimidating.
And the day we went to Sea World, we were walking around admiring everything as we decided what we should go to see next. People, they have a little garden thing with killer whales sculpted out of shrubbery. Color contrast and everything. That is dedication.
And all of the sudden, I didn’t know where Levi was. He wasn’t hard to find, though.
I looked over my right shoulder, and there he was. Pants down around his ankles, hindparts bare to the world, urinating into the perfectly manicured pansy patch.
I took a picture:
Just kidding. I didn’t take a picture. I turned to Paul, and tilting my head to the side, I said, “You see your son over there?”
And as his face broke into a gigantic grin, I hissed, “YOU deal with him,” and I walked away and pretended I had never seen any of them before in my life.
And I was thinking today about that day, and my reaction, and how I might change that reaction if the same thing happened today. And you know what I would do differently?
Not a blessed thing.
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