“Anyone else for Pluto and Goofy?” asked the tram driver at Disney World.

As part of my fading hippie ethic, I always considered Walt Disney an ally of the devil, the man who commercialized childhood and produced decades of boring movies. His very name evoked the aura of fake, gimmicky schmaltz.

That was before one Matthew Van Der Zee, aka The Grandson. He is also known as “The Human Campfire,” because on each holiday, we all sit around staring at his every move, like you do with a campfire in the Allagash. It is truly disgusting.

When Bridget, aka the mother of the grandson, called and suggested a visit to Disney World, I was all ears (sorry). They were making a trip to Disney World in Orlando while I was scheduled to make my annual pilgrimage to Fort Myers to watch the Red Sox try to find enough pitching to stay with 10 games of the New York Yankees. It was a mere two-hour drive from my palatial motel, one of the few places where I could be considered “the younger generation.”

Matthew at Disney World? I could not resist.

I arrived on the appointed day, far ahead of schedule, driving into the 25-acre parking lot, which appears to be slightly bigger than South Thomaston and Owls Head. I paid a mere $7 to park and another $53 to walk inside. How could any attraction, even Disney World, be worth $60?

I took the slick, smooth monorail to the appointed rendezvous place, Cinderella’s Castle, feeling just as silly as I could. The rumor was that business was way down, because the park had been identified as a possible site for a terrorist attack. In the year after the Sept. 11 attacks, international visitors to Walt Disney World declined by more than 20 percent. The four Disney parks saw attendance drop to 37.5 million last year from 39.5 million in 2001, according to Amusement Business, a trade magazine. The FAA declared the park a “no-fly” zone the day I was there.

Apparently, no one else got the word. The park was packed from Main Street to Cinderella’s Castle. If it wasn’t 90 degrees, it was close enough.

Families stopped in awe and gazed at the statue of Walt Disney. An embarrassing number of people, old and young, wore mouse ears.

Somehow, in that mob, we all found each other and Grandpa got a big hug. The Van Der Zee grandparents were veterans at the park and served as guides, leading us from one attraction to the other. Each ride had long lines. There was an estimate of the time it would take, ranging from 20 to 45 minutes. It was quickly apparent that this was “Disney time,” the time that it might take you to get inside the building, out of the blazing sun. Once inside, there was another half-hour wait, all for a four-minute ride.

I have been out of touch with children’s culture for some time and was embarrassingly unaware of Buzz Lightyear. No more. I waited at least 45 minutes on aching feet to take “Buzz Lightyear’s Space Ranger Spin,” where Bridget, Matthew and I piloted our own star cruiser and saved the galaxy from Emperor Zurg. We spun through outer space and fired laser cannon to save the world.

We chose any ride that included a boat to get out of the oppressive heat. One favorite was the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, although the buccaneers looked a little too jolly for me.

If you promise not to tell anyone, I will admit that my favorite ride was the fantasy voyage to Never-Never Land. We rode in a flying version of Captain Hook’s ship that swept up above the streets of London and into the classic tale of Wendy, John, Michael and Peter Pan. Totally charming … and cool. It really felt like flying. This Disney dude is onto something.

Because we were accompanying a 3-year-old child, we had an excuse to avoid the hair-raising Space Mountain ride and other adult rides. We stuck to the kiddy rides. I hate to “dis” the sainted Disney, but Matthew appeared to like the children’s park and slides better that the million-dollar attractions. We had to drag him away from the park to tour Micky and Minnie’s houses.

The long lines and the waiting took a heavy toll on my aging feet. I thought they had a beer jamboree but on closer investigation, it ended up as a “Country Bear Jamboree” at Frontierland. Too bad.

When the questions of another ride were raised, I voted for the narrow-gauge steam train, a 11/2-mile journey around the Magic Kingdom Park. The best part of the day was finding a place to put my feet up, riding slowly around the park.

While I contemplated a foot transplant, the sun started going down and I contemplated the two-hour drive back to my senior citizen’s motel. I reluctantly said goodbye to the grandson and his companions and took the monorail back to the mammoth parking lot.

I am infamous for losing my vehicles in Florida, but this time I wrote down my parking lot address, Daisy Duck 31-32, which is right after Pluto and Goofy.

As I fell into my truck and gratefully took off my steaming sneakers, I took back every insult I ever issued about Mr. Disney. It was an amazing day.

Admission fee: $53.

Parking fee: $7.

Day spent with grandson (and his companions): priceless.

To infinity … and beyond!

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.