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The chronicle of Julien Blanc-Gras: “How the dad survives at the amusement park”

the-chronicle-of-julien-blanc-gras:-“how-the-dad-survives-at-the-amusement-park”

The chronicle of Julien Blanc-Gras: “How the dad survives at the amusement park” Julien Blanc-Gras, dad and author of “Comme à la guerre” (éd. Stock), gives us his sharp chronicle. Today, he tells us about the reaction of the Child when his parents tell him that he is going to Mickey’s:

It’s the most beautiful day of my life ! I’m going to make my third biggest dream come true.

– What are both first?

– 1, become a professional footballer.

2, be immortal.

And so 3, Disneyland.

This is a first for my son. And for me too. We are going to discover together the enchanted world of ass-praline fun and scary rides. Disneyland is a dream for some. For others, of which I belong, it is rather (and not Pluto), a certain idea of ​​

hell. But what wouldn’t we do for his offspring?

So it was in my forties that I discovered Mickey’s lair, in a mixture of joy (my son hopped like a kid) and deaf anguish (people disguised as Donald are going to say hi with huge hands).

The crowd is compact on Main Street , the pastel cardboard artery which accommodates the barge. First shock: a considerable number of visitors wear Minnie ears, while no one is forcing them (they are even likely to have paid for it). I am also struck by the number of adults frequenting these places without being accompanied by a child. What are you doing here ? What are your real motivations? What are your networks? My son is amazed by the standardized fairyland and

the excessiveness of Sleeping Beauty’s castle.

It’s a weekend, the queues for the attractions are endless. Half an hour to be able to shoot monsters laser with Buzz Lightyear. Ditto for going deep into the caves of Pirates of the Caribbean. You end up losing track of time in Star Wars intergalactic space. We come out of Hyperspace mountain in a trance after doing Mach 2 loops in the dark.

Thrills are hollow. The Child is hungry. However, you have to wait an hour to get a burger at lunchtime. The only quickly accessible food stand only offers sweet. Midday meal: a Nutella pancake. (I am afraid, as I write this sentence, that the social services will take away my custody of my child.) Suddenly, a parade begins before our eyes. Perched on tanks, Snow White and her friends greet the crowd with their frozen smiles. My son sees princesses. I see intermittent people from the show who dreamed of red carpet in Hollywood and that fate led on a cart to Marne-la-Vallée, pursued by tourists in shorts, several times a day.

Then, we take off on Aladdin’s flying carpets. We slip into Ratatouille’s skin. We are whirling around in the world of Nemo. The Child keeps a huge smile stuck on his lips. I’ll have to put my bad faith and my sarcasm aside: I enjoyed this day. I leave the park tired and satisfied with the mission accomplished. On my deathbed, I will be able to say “I did it”. His hand in mine, the Child raises his eyes full of stars towards me:

– Dad, we come back during the week next?

You shouldn’t overdo it, son.

2021 Source: ParentsBaby

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