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 ...