Disney snafu sends grandpa duck-ing

by Tom Vartabedian

Published: Thursday September 16, 2010

Shoushi dancers happened to be in same place at same time.

Orlando, Fla. - There I was in Disneyworld, dining with my grandchildren at one of those character breakfasts, when a duck waddles over to our table.

"Daisy!" I yelled, loud enough for the whole place to hear.

All of a sudden, I saw Goofy roar with laughter. Pluto took his tail and twirled it like a windmill. All eyes were on my table as Donald stood there stunned --- a victim of mistaken identity inside the Magic Kingdom.

The "duck" stopped in his tracks and cowered with embarrassment. I would have hid under the table had there been room.

"Papa, that isn't Daisy. That's Donald," my 6-year-old shot back. "Daisy has a bow in her hair and wears a dress."

Get your ducks straight, Tom. It's a lot like searching for Bugs Bunny and finding out he doesn't belong here. Nor any of his Looney Tunes friends. I made that mistake with Daffy.

And Donald didn't let me forget. He took my grandson's autograph book and signed it with a most excruciating note: "Your grandpa called me Daisy."

Not a good start to our Disney trip but one which will be etched in memory. It marked the start of a 45th wedding anniversary for my wife and me. My son and daughter-in-law were celebrating a 10th. Both grandchildren had birthdays imminent.

At the Magic Kingdom, my 8-year-old held my hand and calmed my nerves as we hopped aboard a runaway roller coaster called Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Peter Pan's Flight whisked me away to Never Never Land. Back we came to roll, bounce and float with Winnie the Pooh. The Main Street Parade continued to weave its wizardry, crowned by an awesome fireworks display over Cinderella's Castle.

As is normally the case at large arenas, I wear an Armenian t-shirt to catch the attention of others like me who belong to the happy group.

The shirt I had chosen was one my children bought me for a birthday gift. "Kiss Me, I'm Armenian." And it had the red, blue and orange colors of the Armenian flag. Any conscientious Armenian would gladly point it out.

The shirt had relevance to me. It was the name of a book penned by John D. Hagopian who lived in the mid-west back in the 70s and 80s. We corresponded frequently, then out came his compilation of short stories.

The shirt reminded me of Hagopian. I kept it on for an entire week, noticeably visible in the crowd. First day, not one nibble. Same with the second and third days. Gosh. With the hundreds of thousands of people at Disneyworld, you would think one Armenian would venture forth with a hand extended or at the very least a hug.

A kiss would have been even better.

It wasn't until the fourth day when a group of young attractive women rushed up to me as if I were some sort of celebrity. Mickey himself would not have received a better reception.

Turns out they were members of Shoushi, an Armenian dance troupe from the New York-New Jersey area, and they were in Orlando to perform. And then it came, a kiss on the cheek from a very attractive young lady I might add.

That evening at the Main Street Parade, there they were, dressed in Armenian costume, marching in the most popular parade in America. I couldn't help but become overwhelmed with pride. I had my Armenian jersey on and pumped my fist as they sauntered by.

That turned out to be the only encounter with Armenians that week at Disney, much to my regret. But it was an unforgettable one at that.

For my wife and I, this proved a return visit from the one we made about two decades ago on the 15th anniversary. Disney had invited newspapers across the land and catered to media alone at no cost. Best part of this junket was no lines, though with the Fast Passes, waiting was minimized. Had we gone the week before, we would have toured the grounds in winter apparel.

The snafu with Donald bore another bookend. Being the coddling granddad that I am sometimes, I tend to spoil the youngsters from time to time.

I was given a final warning by their parents to put a cap on buying souvenirs for the children but I do have trouble listening at times. I saw my granddaughter fingering a rack of Disney pins she wanted for her sash.

Trading pins becomes somewhat of a tradition here at Disney. Employees wear them and are prepared to swap at the slightest request.

When nobody was looking I purchased a set of four and stuck it in my pocket before the clerk found a bag. "Keep the change," I told her, hoping to remain undetected.

I invited my grandchild to take a seat outside while the others were meandering about, took the package from my pocket and dropped it to the pavement. A moment later, my exuberance was shown.

"Look, there on the ground, a set of Disney pins. This must be our lucky day. Must have fallen from someone's bag."

Upon showing it to her mother and saying she found it on the ground, my daughter-in-law looked at the kiosk and dutifully replaced it on the rack, saying it must have fallen from the wind.

The $30 I had spent for the pins --- and suddenly lost --- had to be the work of the wicked witch.