Mom was all packed and ready to leave for Disneyland. She and the church choir were traveling on a big tour bus to the famous Mickey Mouse theme park to perform for several days. It was early summer of 1955, and I stood in the parking lot of the church to wave farewell as the bus made its way down the road. A smile quickly appeared on my face. I’d be staying home with Dad, and everything had the makings of a picnic in the park.

Of course, I didn’t wear any of the clothes that Mom laid out for me, but instead selected my own for the next few days while she was gone. Nothing matched. Dad didn’t even care that I wore my black Sunday school shoes and lace-trimmed socks with red shorts and an orange striped T-shirt. We also ate different things, like hotdogs and root beer floats from Foster’s Freeze instead of food cooked in the kitchen. Bedtime was falling asleep on the sofa after watching Gunsmoke and Wyatt Earp with Dad. Baths were few and far between.

As fate would have it, my vacation was short-lived. When Mom got home, I was ushered straight to the bathtub. My shorts, T-shirt, underwear, and lace socks went equally as fast to the laundry room. In no time, my hair was washed, curled and pulled back with matching barrettes. My clothes were color coordinated. The aroma of fried chicken and biscuits wafted from the kitchen. Mom was back, and with her return came the warm feeling of life the way it was supposed to be.

Once everything was back to normal and nicely in order, Mom surprised me with a little blue record player, an assortment of Disney records, and Mickey Mouse ears. I was in Heaven. For the next several weeks, the sound of Cinderella singing “A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes” could be heard throughout the house.