For the past few years, my family has brought Mary to Disney with us. She's my sister's best friend, but she's become more than that to us. Mary is our sister too, and my parents' third daughter. I don't think I began to feel this way until we took her to Disney World. It was there that I watched Mary fixate on Tinkerbell as she flew across the sky before the fireworks, completely mesmerized. I watched Mary enjoy every bite of her first Mickey waffle in complete disbelief, because who knew there was food out there that tasted so good? She watched me cry as I looked up at the fireworks and remembered my 5-year-old self saying, "Daddy, up?" only to be lifted onto his shoulders for the best view in the house. In Disney World, Mary became my sister.
If you haven't figured it out by now, it's in Disney World that I make the best memories with my family. It's there that I'm reminded about the very meaning of family. It's a special place, don't get me wrong, but the people I go there with are what make it special. Oh, and the caption on that photo I posted to Instagram — the one of me and my sister — it was, "I'd walk with her anywhere, but Main Street's always my first choice." It's true, you know, that more than smelling the candy apples in the Confectionery or hearing the distant sound of the carousel bells in Fantasyland as soon as I enter the park, I can still feel Rachel squeezing my hand.
