I realize that yelling at Disney is a bit like this.

FROM WDW to ME:

Dear Ms. Broadfoot,

Thank you for speaking with me regarding your recent visit to the Walt Disney World Resort.

I am very sorry for the disappointment you experienced during your family's New Year's Eve celebration at Disney's Hollywood Studios Park.

I wanted to personally assure you that your feedback has been considered taken seriously. The safety and well-being of our guests are of the utmost importance to us in all aspects of our operation. Our Cast Members are instructed to assist Guests requiring assistance and their families to our First Aid stations located in each of our four theme parks. These locations are established areas where your family can seek comfort during experiences like the one you encountered from the actions of other Guests. I am sorry if you felt assistance was not promptly provided to you, and truly apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you and your family. Please be assured that your comments have been shared with the appropriate Disney management.

Our Guests? feedback allows for our continual growth and the preservation of the magic Walt Disney dreamed about, and I thank you again for your feedback. I am available Wednesday through Sunday between 11 a.m. and 5:30 p.m. EST should you have any questions.

Thank you again for sharing your thoughts with us.

Best Regards,

Benjamin Bradley
Guest Communication Services
Walt Disney World Resort
407-560-2898

****

If only it were this easy.

FROM ME to WDW:

Dear Mr. Bradley,
Thank you for taking the time to talk to me a week ago about my concerns and for your email below. However, I'm afraid I haven't made myself clear about the problem we encountered at the Commissary in Hollywood Studios.

When I first contacted you, I wasn't complaining about noise in the restaurant in which we dined. My son, who is 4 years old and autistic, was bullied. He was targeted by a group of aggressive, rude and possibly drunk teenagers who found it amusing to blow their noisemakers directly at him non-stop so that they could watch him hit himself in the head -- his reaction when he gets upset.

The teenagers were asked politely by my father to stop. They refused. In fact, they redoubled their efforts and blew the noisemakers almost constantly. When my brother-in-law told them, "You are tormenting an autistic child," their response was, AND I QUOTE, "That's not my problem."

At that point, my family asked for help from the manager. She also asked them nicely to stop. When they wouldn't, she said there was nothing she could do.

Surely Disney takes a stand against bullying. Surely it is not too much to ask to eject bullies from restaurants when they are targeting children, particularly those with special needs who are the least able to defend themselves. I am certain that restaurants like The Brown Derby or Cinderella's Castle wouldn't accept that kind of behavior. Is there a dollar value at which a family can expect a restaurant to provide a safe environment?

There were ten adults in our group and four children. We had paid quite a bit of money for our dinner, despite the fact that the Commissary is one of the lower-cost options, and should be entitled to eat it in peace. The idea that we should have to take our dinner to the first aid station, one of the "safe havens," in order to ensure our children weren't bullied, is nothing short of ridiculous.

I'm glad that Disney has designated certain areas as "safe havens" within the park. But every area of Disney should be a safe haven for any child.

I am going to suggest to my readers, who have been following my communications with WDW on my blog, that before they take their special needs child into any of your parks, they input the number for Disney Security into their cell phones. Then, should their child be bullied, they can call security for assistance, as it seems the cast members are not empowered to protect children.

If you have a better suggestion, I would welcome your input.

I will be posting this letter, as well as your email to me, on my blog at http://www.LifeIsASpectrum.com.

Best regards,

Amanda Broadfoot

In the middle of a Willow meltdown on Saturday, I finally received a call back from Disney. I had muffin batter on my hands, a screaming child at my feet, and it sounded like there was some small animal trapped in the wall of my kitchen.

Wait. Let me back up.

On New Year’s Eve, we had a bad experience at Hollywood Studios at Disney World. Some teenagers were harassing us and my autistic son, partly, I think, because they thought it was funny to see him hit himself in the head when they blew on the noisemakers. We were inside a restaurant, and after we politely asked them to stop and they wouldn’t, we asked for help from the manager, who said she could do nothing. Anyway, you can read about the whole ordeal HERE.

At the urging of a lot of you, I wrote an email to Disney about it. I immediately received an auto-response saying that my feedback was valuable and someone would contact me within 14 days.

15 days went by. Nothing.

On the 16^th day, I wrote another email to Disney. “In case you have tried to contact me and there has been some miscommunication…” I wrote them, and then I gave them my home and cell numbers and email address. Again.

Almost immediately, I got a call back. We were at therapy, of course, but there was a message when we got home, stating that they were researching things and would get back to me.

Two days later, it was Saturday, and I was elbow-deep in muffin batter when a very nice rep from Hollywood Studios called.

Here’s the gist:

There’s nothing they can do about patrons making noise but they’re very sorry that someone didn’t direct us to a “Safe Haven” within Hollywood Studios.

“Safe Haven?” I asked. No one had told me about a safe haven.

Apparently, the first aid stations are quiet, safe havens for guests with needs like Billy’s. So basically, we should have taken our $15 fish sticks to the first aid station and eaten our dinner there, if we didn’t want to be harassed.

Again, I need to point out that the guy who called was VERY nice.

However, if I’m to believe what he said, Disney has no policy prohibiting the bullying of special needs guests, so long as they aren’t being physically harmed. After all, we have the option of spending our day in the first aid station. Who could ask for more?

Again, he was very nice about it all.

I pointed out that they weren’t just “making noise” but, in fact, targeting our child. And whether we had a special needs child or not, is it too much to ask to have a moratorium on noisemakers inside a restaurant? It was 6 p.m., dinner hour, and a full SIX HOURS until midnight. Several people had approached us after we left, thanking us for asking those butt-hats to stop making that racket because they were trying to eat.

“Perhaps next time they could hand out the noise makers a bit later in the evening,” he said nicely.

Perhaps. How long is it actually fun to blow those things anyway?

But I guarantee you that the patrons of the Brown Derby didn’t have to listen to that crap. “Disney positions itself as a family destination,” I said. “It’s too bad if you can only guarantee a family-friendly environment if people are willing to pay top dollar.” We were traveling with 10 adults and 4 kids. Getting a table anywhere was a Herculean effort, and no matter where we placed an order, we were dropping a chunk of change.

He was very nice. He even asked if there was anything else I’d like to add, while he had me on the phone.

I jumped at the chance to tell him that perhaps these “Safe Havens” should be pointed out at the same time that the Special Needs Pass is handed out.

“Did the Guest Services Rep know that your son was autistic?” he asked, super-nicely.

“Yes,” I said.

“Hmm,” he replied, and then apologized for his pause, letting me know that he was taking copious notes on our conversation.

Then I told him that in the best of all possible worlds, parents of special needs kids would also get some kind of more detailed guide to Disney rides, so that they know what to expect in the way of sensory experience at each stop. For instance, the water on the head at the Little Mermaid show is no big deal – in fact, an exciting treat – for normally developing kids. But kids with sensory issues can have a real problem with that kind of thing.

He took lots of notes. He promised to email me back with the status of everything by Friday. He gave me his number.

He was very very nice.

I'm not done with this. Not because we were majorly harmed in any way. And not because I think Disney should be responsible for other people being jerks. Believe me: I have an autistic child and I have developed thick skin where jerks are concerned. (Not really, but they don't usually see it coming when I finally hit them.)

But if they're going to market themselves as the "happiest place on Earth" -- actually, even more importantly, if they are going to market themselves as a safe and fun place for children of every ability to enjoy themselves to the max ... of their parents' credit card limits ... then I don't think it's too much to ask that in the face of obvious blatant bullying and harassment, the "cast members" should be empowered to ask the butt-hats to GO. That's all I ask.

It's bad enough in a place like Hollywood Studios where you do have the option of leaving and going to the parking lot. But is this their policy on their Disney Cruises as well? Can you imagine spending 7 days on the high seas in the first aid station so that your child isn't bullied to tears by hoodlums? I don't remember seeing that scene on the TV ads.

I'd love to hear YOUR thoughts. Even better, I'd love it if you'd share them with Disney ...

Fun for the whole family: Make a total fool out of yourself in front of a live audience...on your vacation!

Apparently, I misspoke yesterday when I said there were no rides at Hollywood Studios. I pulled out my handy-dandy Disney World brochure just to remind myself what the heck we were doing all that time we were there and discovered a few rides about which I had forgotten, because we, traveling with four under-5s, didn't participate in the following Hollywood Studios attractions:

• Sounds Dangerous—Starring Drew Carey
• Rock 'n' Roller Coaster, Starring Aerosmith
• The Twilight Zone Tower of Terror
• The American Idol Experience

Like I said, Hollywood Studios is no paradise for preschoolers. We did get to meet Annie and Leo from The Little Einsteins. And we thoroughly enjoyed the Little Mermaid Show, which featured glow-in-the-dark dancing under-sea puppets and a live singing Ariel. The kids were transfixed by the light show on the ceiling, which gives you the impression you're “under the sea” before it sprays you lightly with water. FYI, the water spray is not enough to cause a sensory meltdown; Billy is VERY sensitive about water on the head and he didn't mind it.

I look maniacally happy but that's really terror in my eyes.

Because our family cannot go 45 minutes without needing to stop and eat and drink, we went in search of dinner after the mermaid show. We're like the opposite of camels, whatever that might be.

As we emerged from the darkened theater, we encountered what I like to call Cautionary Tale #2 When Traveling to Disney over the New Year's Holiday with an Autistic Child (a two-act film):

It was about 6 p.m. and the park had started filling up. The “cast members” (what Disney calls employees) had also started handing out noisemakers. It was, after all, New Year's Eve, and apparently there is nothing more fun to 20 zillion adults than making the world's most obnoxious noise. I guess they were planning to make that noise for the next 6 hours. We had to find Billy some peace and quiet fast.

Because I have a long-standing terror of large capering characters.

Our first stop was Brown Derby. Now, I know it sounds nuts that we were expecting to get a table on New Year's Eve at 6 p.m., but we were desperate. If they had been able to seat us, we'd probably have had to take out a second mortgage on the house to pay the bill, but this is the scene that greeted us:

SCENE 1: INT. BROWN DERBY. NIGHT.

10 adults and four children crowd the foyer, while three angry cast members shoot daggers at us from behind the hostess desk. From the looks of things, they're from the cast of Goodfellas. In the background, the INCESSANT sound of honking noisemakers drifts in every time the door opens (frequently).

Dave approaches the desk.

DAVE: Do you have a table for --- (starts trying to count our group)

RAY LIOTTA: WE. ARE. COMPLETELY. BOOKED. UP!!!

DAVE: Of, course, sorry. (Holds up special needs pass.) Do you, by any chance, hold tables for customers with special needs? Our son is ---

RAY LIOTTA: WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO? THROW SOMEONE ELSE OUT FOR YOU??

Yep, we left. We knew it was a long shot, and we were never suggesting that someone else be thrown out. We were just trying to get our son some relief.

At that point, we still had enough patience to cut the guy some slack. After all, he was having to work on New Year's Eve ... at Disney World ... in that racket. And he hasn't made a good movie since the early 90s.

Our patience was about to wear a bit thinner. And reach the breaking point.

I was amazed at how well Billy was handling the noise on the walk from Brown Derby to the Commissary, the only place with open tables. I was a little afraid he was entering a catatonic state, but he seemed genuinely excited by the sights and sounds, only occasionally sticking his fingers in his ears and squinting his eyes.

The Commissary is the exciting studio backlot name for the food court where you spend about $15 for three fish sticks. But we miraculously found an open booth in the back corner big enough for the whole group, and it seemed like paradise.

Until a group of teenagers (they could have been any age between 14 and 24; I've reached the age when all “youths” look same to me) started blowing their noisemakers. One of us – or all of us, at various times – must have given them dirty looks, because they thought it would be funny to blow them non-stop.

Billy started putting his fingers in his ears. Then he started smacking himself in the head. I knew how he felt; I wanted to do the same thing. Actually, I wanted to smack them in the head.

My dad got up and walked over to their table. “I don't want to be rude,” he said, without a trace of rudeness, “but my grandson is autistic and that noise is really upsetting him. Would you mind not blowing those things inside?”

And they stopped. For about two minutes.

Then it was like all Hades broke loose. They blew them as loud and long as they possibly could. I got up and started to push Billy's stroller --- I didn't know where --- maybe to the bathroom, though I had this horrible paranoid feeling that they were going to chase us around blowing those things. Maybe all the way to the parking lot.

Before I could escape, though, my sister and her husband were on their feet. My sister had baby Sloan on her hip, fury in her eyes, and appeared to be planning to throw herself at them.

SCENE 2: INT. COMMISSARY. NIGHT.

GOBBI (what Billy calls my sister): Ohhhh, no! Just let me get over there!

UNCLE WES intervenes, stepping between his wife and the teenagers.

UNCLE WES: You've been asked nicely to stop.

TEEN 1 (we call him THE LAWYER): There's no rule that says we have to stop.

Around him, they all keep blowing the noisemakers and everyone in the packed restaurant has stopped to look.

UNCLE WES: You are torturing an autistic boy.

TEEN 2 (we call him MR. SENSITIVITY): That's not my problem. Take him outside.

UNCLE WES: [THE FOLLOWING DIALOG HAS BEEN BLEEPED FOR STRONG LANGUAGE]

They are still all blowing their noisemakers. Uncle Wes is now backed up by Pop and Daddy and the Commissary Manager has finally arrived, along with (where has she been?) the kids' mother.

UNCLE WES: We have asked them to stop blowing those noisemakers inside the restaurant. We're traveling with an autistic child and it's upsetting him.

MR. SENSITIVITY: That's your problem.

UNCLE WES: [BLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP]

COMMISSARY MANAGER: (to teens) They're asking you for a small concession.

TEEN'S MOM: (We call her Mrs. Sensitivity, or Mother of the Year) I paid good money for us to come all the way from New York and have a GOOD TIME!!!!

POP: I've paid good money too! Not to have my family harrassed!

THE LAWYER: There's no sign that says we can't.

MOTHER OF THE YEAR: There's no sign!

COMMISSARY MANAGER: (To Wes and Pop, shrugging) There's no sign.

There was no sign specifically preventing the public beat-down of teenagers either, and before my irate sister decided to act on this loophole, I led the party outside. In fact, the park outside seemed downright peaceful after that experience.

A quick note here: I have almost NEVER heard my brother-in-law use profanity. He is a perfect Southern gentleman, and known for being the most gentle, kind-hearted and generous soul in our family. He stays even-tempered when most of the rest of us are going all crazy Ray Liotta on each other. But he cannot abide a bully. And he has always had a special protective place in his heart for Billy. For that, I am eternally grateful.

As soon as we exited the restaurant, a different group of diners approached us. “That's why people hate New Yorkers,” said this very nice New Yorker.

“Thank you so much!” said a woman in his group. “We all wanted them to stop. We were inside! INSIDE!”

Ha! Take that, stupid teenagers. Everyone in your city is ashamed of you.

We had spent most of the night up to this point looking for the snow. There was no question any more about where to find it, though, as we were carried along on a literal human tide toward the studio backlot where the spectacle was held.

I had been somewhat dubious when I heard the name of the attraction was the “Osbourne Family” light show (a strange Disney tie-in, no?). I was imagining an animatronic Santa-hatted Ozzie biting the heads off of bats or displays of the “f-word” in white lights. (Turns out, it's a different Osbourne family.)

Disney rocks the Christmas lights.

But no. It was all good. You think you've seen crazy Christmas lights? You ain't seen nothing till you've seen Disney do Christmas lights. Every building along the backlot was lit with a eye-achingly brilliant display of multi-colored lights.

Billy rounded the corner, witnessed this, and nearly fell over with joy. For 30 seconds he stood stock still and stared.

The he started jumping. And dancing. And jumping and jumping and cackling with laughter.

Because the SNOW had started.

“It's snooooooooooooowing!!!” he screamed. And more jumping and laughing and jumping and dancing. And then I was dancing. And probably crying a little. Because everything, even stupid stupid butt-hat teenagers was worth it if he could be this happy. Even for a moment. So very happy.

And so were Willow and Rae and Sloan. And we were all dancing and laughing. Because Billy's happiness is a drug. The best drug in the world. You cannot be around it without getting a contact high. And I swear to you, it had a miraculous effect on everyone around us. Like a ripple of joy.

The dancing and jumping caught hold in the crowd. And there were more children dancing. And more jumping. And everyone was laughing.

And the snow was falling. And I really was in the happiest place on Earth.

Scenes from the next episode: Epcot! Everyone calls me nerd when I try to convince them to go on the hydroponic farming ride ... And why Billy now hates space ...