Why is This Place So Magical?

I've always loved going on vacation.  As an pre-parent adult, I've spent time in San Diego, San Francisco, Vegas, Santa Fe, Maui, Montreal, the Caribbean and numerous other places.  The experiences have been great and returning home has always sucked.  But now that I'm a parent of two young children, vacations have taken on a whole new meaning.  For many, this transition is often looked upon negatively.  The loss of freedom, the loss of control, and most dreaded, the change from adult-friendly destinations to child-friendly destinations.  But for me, those changes have made for even better vacations, and unfortunately even worse returns.

Our latest Gottlieb family getaway, just completed this past Saturday, had me asking myself the entire time (and I'm still asking it), "Why is This Place So Magical?"  Five days.  Four theme parks.  One water park.  And an amazing collection of memories to last a lifetime.  Of course, I'm talking about Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida.  On the surface, it's hard to imagine how this could be.  A ten hour drive spread out over two days going, and another ten hour drive over two more days returning.  Standing in long lines just to get an autograph or ride a 3 minute kiddy-coaster.  Navigating what seems like thousands of strollers, over-sized Mickey balloons and souvenir shops.  But now that it's over, those five days felt like a dream.  There are probably many other answers to my question tonight, but here are ten I've come up with:

1) Your Arrival - Passing under the Disney World arch flanked by Mickey and Minnie for the first time, you can see the glean in your kids' eyes and hear the unadulterated excitement in their voices.  You just know you are going to love it.

2) The Best Customer Service - Whether roaming the parks, eating in one of the hundreds of restaurants, taking in a show or doing just about anything else, the staff is always there to accommodate your every need.  They truly won't say no to you.  As you know by now, my younger daughter has a peanut allergy.  The chefs at every restaurant make it a point to come out and talk to us about what she can and can't eat on the menu and help us find alternatives to make the experience just as great for her.  Heck, Disney is so good at customer service they even have their own Institute to teach others.

3) You Get to Meet Princesses - Where else can you meet a dozen princesses in five days?  Dressed to impress and speaking like they were straight out of the movies themselves, these princesses look and act the part, and my daughters felt like they were princesses, too!

 

4) Larger Than Life Stuffed Animals That Sign Autographs - By the time the week was over, each of my daughters had an autograph booked filled with John Hancock's and pictures of all their favorite Disney cartoon characters.

5) It Gives You the Giggles - At Animal Kingdom, there's a ride called the Kali River Rapids.  It's a 12-person circular raft that spins and winds its way through roaring rapids, and you just never know who'll be sitting in the wrong place and the wrong time.  When those waves hit, and grandma got soaked, it sent my daughter into what seemed like everlasting laughter.  I think she thought it was the funniest thing ever.

6) Even the Stuffed Ones Have Fun - When the humans go out to play, the stuffed friends left behind in the hotel rooms have their own parties.  When we returned to the rooms at night, we found our daughters' friends in the window courtesy of the wonderful housekeeping staff.

7)The Kids Eat Healthy - At a place where it would be really easy to load up the kids on junk, Disney cares about making sure they eat lots of fruit.  Sure, there's plenty of popcorn and ice cream and French fries, but every kids meal comes with at least one and sometimes two sides of fruit and milk or juice, ensuring you don't also return home with cavities as souvenirs.

8) All Ages Can Have a Blast - It wasn't just my kids having fun.  Even the grandparents got swept up in the magic of Disney, riding bumper cars, getting soaked at the water park and hoping in pictures with characters.

9) Phone Apps Mean Less Waiting - With Disney's wait times for rides updated on their iPhone app, free Wi-Fi around the parks and fast passes to return later in the day and hop to the front of the line, Disney is making it possible for those who plan appropriately to play more and stand around less.  That's always a good thing when you've got young kids.

10) You Can't Wait to Go Back - From the moment we pulled out of the parking lot at Typhoon Lagoon to head home until this very moment (and I'm sure for days to come), all I keep thinking about is when we can get back to that place.  That's how you know you've had a great time, and that's truly how you know this place is so magical.

Some of you are probably thinking I'm nuts right about now, but I know I'm not alone.  I want to hear from all of you that feel just like I feel.  Tell me why Disney is so magical to you and your family by commenting below.

What Good Will Come Of This?

***This post is written in memory of those that lost their lives yesterday at the Boston Marathon as well as the others that have suffered because of it.  It is also written as a thank you to my dear friends who helped my family get through the devastating tornadoes of two years ago.***

I find this post particularly hard to write.  You see, today marks the two year anniversary since tornados ripped through Raleigh, North Carolina, leaving a path of devastation some sixty miles long.  That path included my neighborhood, demolishing at least six houses completely, and damaging dozens more including my home.  While we were fortunate enough to be out of town when the tornado roared through like a freight train, it is a date and a memory that I will never ever forget.  But it also taught me that from pure destruction can come good.

On this night following the unspeakable tragedy in Boston, a city I called home for five years after college, I would be remiss and selfish if I didn't look to my experiences from two years ago to spread hope to those in pain right now.  To speak about how good can come out of the darkness for all of those forever linked with yesterday's events.

Our destroyed possessions piled by the curb

I'll start by saying that I am not naive.  I understand the primary difference between mother nature's acts of two years ago and the acts of one or more evil wrongdoers yesterday.  But at the end of it all, the thing they have in common is that tragedy can strike without a moment's notice.  That a day which starts off as any other can end with you questioning everything about life, if you are fortunate to still have one.  I makes you wonder why you?  But it also makes you grieve to the question of why you were spared when others were not.  And it leaves you with indelible images and feelings that come to you when you least expect, or when other similar events flash you back to that horrible day.  For me, that's many of our family possessions piled high by the curb, and for others less fortunate, it's images of flattened houses or worse.  Much worse.  It changes you forever.

Neighbors and strangers pitch in to clean up my yard

But then you look around and see a rainbow.  Only this rainbow isn't a mirage, it's the bright colors of humanity shining all around you.  Yesterday, it was the thousands of bystanders who rushed to the aid of those who were hurt or worse.  On  9/11, it was all of those firefighters who rushed into the World Trade Center to pull people to safety at their own peril.  For me, two years ago it was the dozens of neighbors, church groups and reconstruction crews, who selflessly gave of their time and labor to clear debris from my backyard, to mow my overgrown grass filled with shattered glass, and to just say "I'm sorry" and "What can I do to help?".  At a time when my family felt so lost in our own home, our neighbors, many of whom we had but minor friendships with, made us feel at home again.  And while two years later I hate the sound of thunder, and a tornado watch feels like certain doom, I can't help but think of how that day gave me so much more than it took away.  It gave me faith in people, it gave me hope for the future, and most importantly it gave me new friendships that will last a lifetime.

So on behalf of those affected by yesterday's events, and for anybody struggling to come to grips with their own personal tragedies, I ask "What Good Will Come Of This?"  While each of you will have to answer that question for yourselves and only in due time, I remind you to look around.  To remember what is truly important in life and to find your own humanity in all of this.  I pray that the remembrance of these events lives on for you, not to serve as a painful memory, but rather to serve as a guiding light for your future.  I hope you find your rainbows.

A note from a neighborhood kid

Please take a moment to share a kind thought or an empowering story that might provide a ray of light to those in pain right now.

Some People Count Sheep, Why Do I Relive Scoring Hockey Goals?

We all know that when you can't fall asleep, the common advice is to count sheep.  But has anyone ever told you to relive your most exciting personal sports successes?  Well, that's what I do, and it's led me to ask myself "Some People Count Sheep, Why Do I Relive Scoring Hockey Goals?"

The cement playground in front of my apartment building

For a short, skinny, Jewish kid from Brooklyn, I would say I'm a decent athlete.  I grew up on the 18th floor of a twenty-three story high-rise apartment building.  I didn't grow up honing my baseball skills shagging fly balls in my backyard, sliding easily on fluffy green grass to make a great catch.  No, instead, I snared line drives fired off my closet door by diving across my rugged carpeted floor resulting in some pretty nasty rug burns.  I only ice skated a few times as a kid, yet I learned to handle a hockey puck by practicing shooting tennis balls through a small opening in my sliding closet doors with a broken-bladed hockey stick.  And my basketball skills?  I got those by shooting a bright orange rubber basketball into a cardboard box with the bottom cut out and taped to my wall.  No one would ever mistake me for Cal Ripken, Wayne Gretzky or Michael Jordan, but on the cement playgrounds in Brighton Beach, some did call me mini Air Jordan.  Don't laugh, I'm serious!

I went to college at RPI.  That's short for Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute.  RPI had one Division I sports team in hockey.  That was it!  So our lives revolved around going to hockey games.  Right after getting to RPI, I joined the Lambda Chi Alpha fraternity.  One of the best parts of fraternity life was the intramural sports.  Having never really skated before, I decided not to play on the fraternity ice hockey team.  But after going to watch a game, I decided I had to try to put my puck handling skills to the test.  I rushed out the next day to the hockey shop and bought myself all new hockey equipment, and within a few days found myself dressing for my first ice hockey experience.  As soon as I stepped onto the ice, I knew this was the best decision of my life.  And then I fell.  And I fell again.  And again.  And again.  In fact, I spent so much time laying on the ice, they starting calling me The Mattress.

Dressing for the game

So I decided to dedicate myself to practicing my skating at the expense of some silly college courses and quickly put my Mattress days behind me and became one of our better players.  Our team wasn't that good that year, but we managed to make the playoffs, and found ourselves down a goal with seconds to go and the goalie pulled.  The puck found its way to the point, where our biggest defenseman, standing a good 6' 7" on skates, blasted the puck toward the net.  I had positioned myself to the side of the opposing goalie and managed to get a stick on the incoming shot, deflecting it up and over the goalie's pads and into the back of the net.  The crowd of at least ten fans went nuts and we were headed to overtime, and then eventually to a shoot out.  With a 1-0 lead after one round of shots, I got the call to give it a go. With all eyes focused on me, I scooped up the puck at center ice and raced toward the net.  It felt like I was flying, but in reality I think I was probably skating pretty slowly.  As I neared the net, I faked a shot and then slide the puck to the right to my backhand.  The goalie slid over to block the shot and I quickly drew the puck back the my forehand and lifted a shot into the vacated net.  It was the most incredible feeling I had ever felt playing sports.  For a few seconds, I could hear nothing.  I was truly floating on clouds as I skated away from the net, pumping my fist and eventually high fiving my teammates on the bench.  I don't think I slept a wink that night thinking about how I had saved the day!

Now, almost twenty years later, I often find myself run down from a long day of work, taking care of the kids, and numerous other responsibilities.  Yet I lay in bed at night with too much on my mind to drift off to sleep.  So I do what relaxes me most.  I close my eyes and transport myself back to that incredible late night in March 1994 and relive scoring hockey goals.  Why does it relax me so much?  Perhaps it's because I can feel the complete calm that came over me in those seconds after I scored in the shootout.  Perhaps it's because for just one night in my life, I accomplished what so many little kids fantasize about...scoring the winning goal in the final seconds and becoming a hero.  Or perhaps it's because I know that while my best athletic days are clearly behind me now (I can't even run to the mailbox without catching my breath), I can always close my eyes and for a moment feel young again.

What's your shining moment?  What accomplishment do you often think about from your younger days to make you feel better?  Please take a moment to share a comment below with all of my readers!

Hey Kid, Which Horse You Got?

Do you remember back in school when your teacher asked you "What do your parents do for a living?"  For most, the answers to that question were pretty standard: doctor, lawyer, nurse, teacher, stay at home mom, you get it.  And then there was me.  When I was asked by my first grade teacher this question, my answer was "my mom stays home and my dad bets on horses".  Surely, my teacher thought I had an active imagination, so foolishly she asked me again, and when I responded with the same answer, she threatened punishment.  Of course, just weeks later at parent teacher conference, she must have felt really foolish when she asked my parents the same question, and yet again, got the same answer.

Yes, it's true.  My dad bet on horses for a living.  More specifically, he was called a Professional Handicapper.  In layman's terms, he handicapped, or evaluated, the field of horses in a race and then based on the odds of those horses determine which horses and bets provided the best value for the wager.  Many a man has tried and failed miserably to do this for a living, many of these I witnessed firsthand growing up around the racetrack.  But not my dad.  He had a system based in mathematical data and statistics, and while there were plenty of ups and downs, he managed to support his family well for over twenty years.  And let's be clear, what he did was 100% legit.  He wasn't a bookie.  He didn't bet for others.  He didn't bet on football or baseball, or hang out in casinos.  Sure, there was the occasional trip to Vegas, but his expertise was in horses and he knew and understood how to "gamble" responsibly and in support of his profession.

To watch my dad at the racetrack was like watching royalty.  People constantly rushing up to him wanting to know what he was doing.  Everybody always up in his business.  He was even the focus of a local New York newspaper article series.  Simply put, my dad was the King of the track.  He even substantiated that title one year by winning a handicapping contest beating out hundreds of competitors.

That's me on the left with my dad in the white shirt back in '84 at Saratoga

And of course, if my dad was the King, that made me the Prince.  For as long as I can remember, I've been going to the racetrack.  My mom still tells the story of a young me, probably no older than five, being asked "Hey Kid, Which Horse You Got?"  To which I provided that old man the winning horse.  Of course, for some bizarre reason he didn't listen and quickly learned not to doubt royalty. 

And then there was the day I successfully picked the winner of six straight races in a bet called the Pick Six, the most difficult of all wagers.  And I did it by selecting just one horse in each race.  In sixth grade when we were given an assignment to write an educational book, I wrote a book title "How to Bet on Horses".  That book won a contest for the best in the entire district and was published to all the schools.

The entrance to Saratoga Race Course

My love for horse racing ran so deep, it even managed to summon a mystical power from within.  As a kid, we spent our Augusts in Saratoga, a quaint little horse racing town in upstate New York, when the racing moved there from the tracks in NYC.  Well one August night when I was about eight, I experienced a very vibrant dream.  In the dream, I was supposed to ride the #1 horse in the first race at Saratoga, but I chickened out and was replaced by a jockey by the name of Jimmy Miranda.  The horse won the race, awakening me from the dream.  The next morning, I told this story to my parents, and when my dad relayed the dream to all of his friends at the track, they all rushed to the betting windows.  And wouldn't you know it, Jimmy Miranda, riding the #1 horse, crossed the finish line first in the first race.  And then, amazingly, riding the #1 horse, he did it again in the second race.  Everyone cashed in, and it was years before I could go to the track without being asked "Hey Kid, You Have Any Dreams Last Night?"

Yeah, I think it's safe to say my friends thought I had the coolest dad, even if their parents didn't agree.  And they all wanted to go with me to the track.  I even managed to help one of my friends cash in to the tune of $300 one magical day.  Many questioned my dad as to whether I was too young to be exposed to the dangers of gambling.  But what they didn't understand was that I was actually learning just the opposite.  I was learning how to respect the dangers of gambling and how to have fun trying to solve the great mathematical problem each new race presents at two bucks a pop.  Yeah, it was a pretty awesome childhood with lots of amazing memories and stories, and it's something I wouldn't trade for the world.

Too bad there aren't any tracks in North Carolina.

I want to hear from you!  Have you ever been to the race track?  If so, what's your best memory?  If you haven't, got a question you'd like to ask me?  Fire away!

Do You Understand the Importance of "The Bond"?

With the 2013 baseball season underway, this seemed like the perfect topic for my next post.  Now before all the Yankee haters out there click away...or start posting negative comments...or even remark on the Yankees "wonderful" start to this season...let me start by saying that this post is NOT about being a Yankees fan.  And it's NOT about being a Red Sox or Mets hater.  It's also not about battling with my wife (although it might seem like it shortly).  Here's what it IS about...The Bond.  It's a fanatical sports bond between a parent and a child.  A connection built on an extreme, devoted, almost obsessive love for the SAME favorite sports team.

If you had it with your parent, you know what I'm talking about.  If you have it with your child, you understand what it feels like.  You know that special, indescribable feeling of seeing your child wearing the team colors, cheering for your favorite players, and yes, even booing the hated rival.  I hesitate to say it, but I don't think there is anything else on this planet that can bring a parent and child closer together than The Bond.

That's me!

As a kid, I shared that The Bond with my dad, just as he did with his dad.  We were Yankees fans through and through.  My dad and I didn't have the tightest relationship when I was young, but sitting next to him at a Yankee game was more magical than a thousand Disney Worlds.  Wearing the same pinstripes, donning the NY navy blue cap, and cheering at the top of our lungs as the Bombers took the field, I knew my place in my dad's heart, and he in mine.  There was no greater feeling, period.

It is because of those feelings and the unforgettable attachment they created, that from the moment my first daughter was born, I anxiously awaited the day where I could sit next to her, watch a Yankees game and high five her when yet another Yankee legend hit a blast deep into the Bronx night.  When I could form another fanatical sports bond that runs generations deep.  A bond that is tied together by Joe DiMaggio,  Mickey Mantle, Don Mattingly, Derek Jeter and future Yankee legends.

Exhibit A

So I ask "Do you understand the importance of The Bond?"  Unfortunately, if you never had The Bond with your parent, and you don't have The Bond with your child, sadly you will answer "No".  To you, it's just a team.  It's just a jersey.  It's just some players.  And it's just a rival.  There's no emotion behind it, and there's certainly no bond to be had.  And that's fine for you.  You can cheer for your team.  And you can boo the enemy.  And heck, you might even cross over to the dark side once in a while for a World Series ticket (see exhibit A).  But, and here is the moral of this entire post, don't deprive the ones you love of The Bond.  Recognize, even if you can't understand it, that it exists, it is real, and that it matters to some.  So keep cheering for your team, but step aside and let generations of this fanatical sports bond live on!

I want to hear from you.  If you've felt The Bond, share a story of one of your memories in the comments box below.

Will My Kid Never Eat Chinese Food?

The restaurant I went to as a kid in Brooklyn

As a boy growing up in Brooklyn, NY, there were three food staples that were a part of my DNA: pizza, bagels and Chinese food.  Pick any block in the big apple and walk down it and you're sure to see at least one pizza place, a bagel shop, and a takeout Chinese restaurant.  I can't even begin to imagine what life would have been like as a child without an oil-drenched slice of cheese pizza or a sesame bagel schmeared with cream cheese.  But most of all, what would life have been like without a crunchy deep fried egg roll dipped in duck sauce, a big bowl of piping hot wonton soup with crispy fried noodles, an order of spare ribs and a side of fried rice?  Now that's the real good stuff... the stuff I took for granted. 

Fast forward some twenty plus years.  I'm married and a father of two young daughters.  It's a typical weekend errand run with the family to Trader Joe's.  We see samples of bananas dipped in creamy peanut butter, yet another staple of my childhood.  My wife gives my younger daughter, then 18 months old, the sample which she proceeds to spit out, never ingesting any of it. It doesn't even dawn on us that this is her first taste of the yummy, yet about to be poisonous to her, peanut butter.  Within minutes, a small batch of hives begin to form near her mouth where she spit out the sample.  But that appears to be about it.

We leave the store, and ironic to this story, proceed to a nearby Asian market where I run in to pick up a few more things.  Ten minutes later my daughter's life (and all of ours as well) changed forever.  I'm in line to check out and my phone rings.  I hear my daughter screaming in the background and my wife demanding I get outside immediately.

(If you're eating right now, I suggest you put down the food.)  I arrived to the car to see my daughter spewing like Mount Vesuvius.  By the time she was done, I don't think there was a drop of fluid left inside her little body.  Her body was covered from her head to her toes in hives.  And she was screaming like she was on her first roller coaster ride.  It was downright horrifying.  We rushed her to the nearby emergency room where they administered some Benadryl while I cleaned out the vomit from her car seat so we'd have a way to get her home.

She survived that scary day and the next week we had her at the allergist, where just six months earlier she had tested negative for all allergies.  This time, the results were, as we expected, dramatically different.  They scratched up her back for all sorts of allergies, and the area where they tested for peanuts blew up so bad they had to retest for all the allergies within three inches of that test.  The doc told us that it was one of the most severe reactions he had seen in years, and that it would likely be with her forever.  At that moment, I wondered to myself "Will my kid never eat Chinese food?  Will she never know those same joys I knew growing up?"  After all, there are peanuts everywhere in Asian cuisine.  It seemed so unfathomable, yet it was now her reality.  In the four years since that fateful day, we've managed to cope with it, adjusting our lives and our eating habits, and I've even learned to make some pretty tasty Chinese food at home.  But it never tastes the same as what you get from that take out place around the corner.

So, I ask you, my faithful readers (or I hope soon to be), what is the one food you can't imagine ever having to give up?  What's the one taste you would never imaging your kids missing out on?  I want to hear from you, so please leave a comment!  Oh, and feel free to offer up any of your own homemade peanut-free Chinese food recipes!