When I was a little boy, I loved Disney. It probably goes without saying that Disney is something in every childhood, whether or not you’re a fan. My personal favorites were the Lion King and anything to do with Mickey Mouse.
Mickey Mouse was a cartoon figure I absolutely adored. I loved to watch him fool around in the screen, and scramble around to get out of trouble he’d unintentionally cause. I was always known for my childish obsession for the Disney mascot. My parents liked to joke that the first words I ever spoke was “Mickey Mouse.”
One of my fondest memories is of me having a Mickey Mouse themed birthday party for my sixth birthday where everyone had to wear Mickey Mouse ears instead of party hats, and my mother hired a man in a Mickey Mouse costume instead of a magician or a clown.
Every year, my parents without fail gave me a gift that had to do with the mascot. One year, I’d get a Mickey Mouse lunchbox, and the next, action figures of Mickey and his friends, then the next they’d take me to Disney World. My shelves were filled with dolls, toys, and pictures of the iconic mouse. I always took a plush Mickey with me wherever I went.
This was true until my ninth birthday. Being born in the summer, my birthday always involved a pool to cool kids down. My classmates loved it — even if they never spoke to me any other time of the year — and the few who could not make it because they were travelling were sorry to miss it.
I remember there was a small five-year-old boy who disappeared that summer, so it looked like my birthday party would be mostly empty as overprotective parents refused to let their children out of their sights.
To counter this, my parents went crazy with the theme. They didn’t buy a cake with Mickey’s face drawn on it. They bought a triple tiered cake with figurines of the mouse and his friends decorating the white frosting like miniature versions of a Disney World parade. They spent a mass amount of money for horses, people in costumes, and even security guards to ensure the safety of the children.
When it was time to open presents, I thought I got the best present any kid could ever wish for. It had caught my eye at the beginning of the party – a particularly large box, big enough for even me to fit in, wrapped in silver packaging dotted with Mickey’s face.
I couldn’t wait to open it and see what large object my parents could have possibly gotten.
After opening the last gift from my friends, my parents finally brought the giant box outside. It had to stay on the ground for me to open it, and I ripped the wrapping off, eager to get my hands on whatever giant object was hidden inside. I didn’t let the bold capital "REFRIGERATOR" on the box deter me. My parents always liked to reuse boxes, so it wasn’t unusual for them to place my gifts in a shoe box or something of the same caliber.
I peeled away the painstaking piece of tape. My classmates all leaned forward, waiting for my reaction as I finally got the flaps to open, all of them curious as to what giant object I could have possibly gotten.
