What would she make of its golden anniversary, 37 years later?
I WAS 12 when I went to Disneyland — the original one, in California, where orange groves once flourished — but for the next 37 years I have not been to another big theme park. Don’t get me wrong: Disneyland did not scar me or anything. In fact, my diary at the time reports it was “a blast”. It’s just that as an adult, I saw no reason to pay to make myself dizzy. My children have been to theme parks, just not with me. Disneyland is now 50 and, when I was asked to return to write about how it had changed, I admit that I felt no joy, only a curiosity about how awful it would be (there were tales of queues as long as the Nile). But my daughter Gillian, who is 22 and possibly deeply scarred from our lack of theme-park bonding, was thrilled. “Disneyland!” she cried. “I’m so excited!” I stayed quiet, as I have been told that being a total Eeyore all the time can be very irritating. Inwardly, of course, I anticipated the worst. In 1968 Disneyland had seemed magical, a place of pirates and hip
