Family Bonding

We're standing in the line for Space Mountain and the Buddy's swinging a chain back and forth. "Quit swinging that", I say. "You're gonna hit somebody. You wanna do something with your hands? Come here." I hold my hands out, palms up. "Put your hands on mine. Now I'm going to try to slap your hands, and you have to move them away before I can hit them. When I miss, you get to do it to me." He puts his hands on mine, heavily. I, quickly, pull my hands back, slapping the tops of his. Two kids next to us are watching. He puts his back on top of mine and I slap them again. "Hey!" he says. "You've gotta move faster," I say. A family behind us is trying this now. I let the Buddy try to hit my hands. He misses once, twice, then starts windmilling his arms trying to hit my hands. "Okay. Let's try it this way," I say. I hold my hands out in front of me, palms together, fingers pointed out at him. "Now try it." The Buddy swings at my hands. I look back at the line, long and serpentine, watching friends, families, mothers and daughters, fathers and sons, waiting to get their hands smacked at the happiest place on earth.