Estimated reading time: 7 minutes
The Big Idea
It started, as all questionable family endeavors do, with a sentence that seemed harmless enough:
“We should all go to Disney World together.”
Now, for most families, “together” means a couple of siblings, maybe some cousins. For me, a newly-minted grandfather of three rambunctious little humans, it meant myself, my wife, our two grown daughters, their husbands, and the aforementioned grandchildren who, I quickly realized, operated on a steady diet of fruit snacks, YouTube, and unexplainable energy bursts at precisely 2 a.m.
The planning fell, naturally, on me. Why? Because apparently if you’re over 50, you’re considered the “responsible” one. Responsible, in this case, meant holding the credit card, paying for the rental house, and trying to figure out what “Genie+” is without crying into my coffee.
The Planning Stage: A Test of Sanity
No war was ever won without strategy, and no Disney trip has ever been completed without at least one breakdown during planning.
When I went to Disney as a kid in the 1970s, planning consisted of showing up in Orlando with a camera that required film, standing in line, and praying you didn’t melt in the Florida sun. Today? Disney has apps, reservations, lightning lanes, virtual queues, park hoppers, and something called “mobile ordering” that requires me to know what a seven-year-old will want for lunch on Tuesday at 1:17 p.m.
“Dad,” my oldest daughter said, “you have to book rides at exactly 7:00 a.m. or we won’t get on anything.”
At 7:00 a.m. sharp the next morning, I was on the My Disney Experience app, glasses on, finger hovering over my iPhone like it was the nuclear launch button. I clicked the wrong thing twice, got locked out once, and by 7:05, I had secured exactly one reservation for It’s a Small World. My grandchildren were not impressed.
The Journey South: Grandpa vs. The Airport
The actual trip to Florida was its own comedy. Remember when airports used to be fun? Now, it’s an endurance event.
First, there was security. My granddaughter tried to bring a juice box through TSA, which led to a full-scale interrogation. My belt set off the scanner. My wife’s knitting needles were treated like medieval weapons. By the time we reached the gate, we were sweaty, cranky, and down one juice box.
On the plane, the grandchildren discovered the joy of reclining seats, tray tables, and pressing the call button repeatedly. My son-in-law attempted to watch a movie but was instead treated to 90 minutes of “Frozen” sing-alongs from the row behind him. I, meanwhile, sat with the deep knowledge that this trip was already costing more than my first car.
Arrival: The Disney Bubble (And Grandpa’s Wallet)
There’s a moment when you drive under the giant Walt Disney World sign, and you think, “This is it. The magic begins.” It’s also the moment your credit card starts whimpering.
Everything at Disney costs approximately three times what it should. A bottle of water? $5. Mickey ears? $35. A balloon? $20. My grandson asked if he could have a light-up toy. I told him yes, if he also wanted to put off going to college.
We checked into the hotel, where I discovered that “theme park view” meant you could, if you leaned off the balcony at exactly the right angle, see the very top of Space Mountain. Magical indeed.
The Parks: A Test of Endurance
Day one began at 6:00 a.m. My grandchildren woke up as if shot out of cannons. I, on the other hand, required two cups of coffee just to remember my own name.
We entered Magic Kingdom, and within 15 minutes, two things happened:
- My grandson declared he was hungry.
- My granddaughter announced she needed the bathroom.
This became the theme of the trip: eat, bathroom, ride, repeat.
The rides themselves were magical, though. My youngest granddaughter’s face on Dumbo was pure joy. My grandson screamed with delight on Pirates of the Caribbean. I screamed with fear on Space Mountain, because my back has not been the same since the Clinton administration.
But the lines—oh, the lines. Standing in 95-degree Florida heat for two hours to ride something that lasts three minutes should be classified as a psychological experiment. By the time we got to Peter Pan’s Flight, I had aged another decade.
Grandpa vs. Genie+
Genie+ is Disney’s ride-reservation system, designed (allegedly) to make things easier. For me, it was a nightmare wrapped in an app.
At one point, I spent 45 minutes trying to book us onto Seven Dwarfs Mine Train, only to discover the app had instead given me a return time for the Carousel of Progress. My grandson asked if this was a roller coaster. I told him no, but it did feature a singing animatronic oven, which is basically the same thing.
My daughters took pity on me and took over Genie+ duties. They managed to snag reservations for rides I had never even heard of. I stuck to my role as wallet-holder and designated stroller driver.
Meals: The True Battlefield
You haven’t known true chaos until you’ve tried to feed a group of twelve at Disney World.
Do we do sit-down dining? Quick service? Character breakfast? My wife wanted Cinderella’s Royal Table. My grandson wanted a hot dog. My daughter wanted something with avocado toast. I wanted a beer.
Eventually, we settled on a character meal. This meant paying $60 per person to eat scrambled eggs while Winnie the Pooh hugged my granddaughter. She loved it. I loved the beer menu.
The Magic Moments
For all my complaints, there were moments of real magic. Watching fireworks explode over Cinderella Castle while holding my granddaughter’s hand was something I’ll never forget. Hearing my grandson tell me that meeting Mickey was “the best day of his life” almost made me forget about the $120 we spent on churros. Almost.
Even I had a moment of pure joy when the Haunted Mansion’s ghost “followed me home.” My wife claims I grinned like a child. I told her it was probably just heatstroke.
The Aggravations
But let’s not sugarcoat it: Disney with multiple generations is exhausting. My knees hurt, my wallet hurt, and my patience hurt. There were meltdowns (and not just from the kids). There were arguments about strollers, sunscreen, and whether or not we really needed to ride “it’s a small world” again.
At one point, I sat on a bench in Epcot, eating a $9 pretzel, wondering if I would ever financially recover from this trip. A fellow grandfather sat next to me, nodded, and said, “Hang in there, buddy.” Disney solidarity.
Coming Home: The Recovery Period
When we finally returned home, I collapsed into my recliner with the intensity of an Olympic gymnast sticking a landing. My wife unpacked. My grandchildren showed off their souvenirs. My daughters posted Instagram photos with captions like “Best trip ever!”
And it was, in its own chaotic, expensive, exhausting way. Disney is designed to drain your wallet and your energy, but it also fills your heart. Watching my grandchildren experience the magic for the first time was worth every penny, every blister, every confusing Genie+ reservation.
Would I do it again? Absolutely. But not until my knees, wallet, and sanity have fully recovered. Which, by my calculations, should be sometime around 2035.
Final Thoughts: Grandpa’s Wisdom
If you’re over 50 and planning to take your entire family to Disney World, here’s my advice:
- Accept that you will not understand the app. Hand it to someone under 30.
- Budget at least triple what you think you’ll spend. Then double it again.
- Invest in comfortable shoes, industrial-strength sunscreen, and patience.
- Embrace the chaos. Because in the end, it’s not about the rides or the food or the overpriced balloons. It’s about the memories.
Disney World is the only place where three generations can melt down in unison and still call it “the happiest place on Earth.”
And that, my friends, is the real magic.
