The Time I Got Very Lost In Disney By Chloe Clancy

I'm sure you may be concerned already just by having read the title of this blog post, and I don't blame you. This was probably one of the scariest moments of my life. Now, since this month's theme is creative writing, I'm going to tell this story the way I remember it, even though my mom tells me that my memory of this is entirely wrong. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this roller coaster of a story.

So, it all starts on a hot summer day down in Orlando, Florida, and Disney World was at its peak season. Tourists, children, and life sized characters were everywhere. I, a three year old toddler who was unable to walk for long distances, was having the time of my life. It was just me, and my stuffed Pablo doll (from The Backyardigans), chilling in a shaded stroller.

Now, one thing you should know about me when I was little is that I had an obsession with fountains.  I just thought they were so cool. And Disney World is full of these ginormous, elaborate pools of fountains spewing water, in different patterns and lengths, at every corner. Every time I would see a fountain, I would get out of the stroller, waddle over to the edge of the pool, dip my hand in, gaze at the water in pure awe, and sometimes my parents would give me pennies to throw in for good luck. I never broke routine.

There was this one fountain that I caught out of the corner of my eye. The stroller had stopped moving, and that was my cue. I hopped out of the stroller with Pablo, and said to my parents that I wanted to go  look at the fountain. I did, and boy was I satisfied. To my tiny eyes the pool seemed never ending, and each ripple of water would transform my reflection in a way that seemed magical. Not to kill the mood, but my attention span as a three year old was quite short so after about a minute I was done. I walked back to the stroller, which, to my surprise, was not there. I looked all around me, and I finally came to the conclusion that my parents were gone.

This is the point where my entire body just filled with panic. My continuous shouts for "Mommy and Daddy," were of no use. They had left me. I didn't cry very much when I was a kid. However, I cried so much that I probably could have filled that fountain twice.  I was a three year old, with no parents, in the middle of Disney World, clutching a stuffed penguin, sobbing in the middle of Epcot. My weeping was suddenly interrupted by an unfamiliar man. He picked me up, and carried me over to his stall, where I remember very vividly that he was selling maracas. This man comforted me, and told me I was okay (which I obviously wasn't), and kept me by his stall for the next fifteen minutes.

I eventually ran out of tears, and the man hoisted me up onto his shoulders. The sun was getting lower in the sky, and I watched the huge crowds of people emerge from the sun in our direction. There's a moment when I can only see one head in the crowd. I wait for him to get closer, and then I realized. My dad was coming back for me. I ran over to him, and he picked my tiny body up into his comforting arms. That's pretty much the end of the story. After my dad came back, I'm pretty sure I just got back into the stroller and we continued walking.

I know, traumatizing. I don't think its something many people can say happened to them, and it's an interesting conversation starter. Seeing the look on people's faces when I tell them what happened is always fun. Now, twelve years later, my mom says she remembers wondering why the stroller felt so light all of a sudden and I was only lost for 5 minutes (sure). Thanks mom and dad.

A map of Epcot