What Price Joy?

 I am certain that at this point I do not comprehend the American Dream. 

I used to believe that it involved being free to follow the path that you wanted to, and that path would eventually lead to comfort and success in that chosen field. Preparing yourself and your loved ones for a life that offered all the opportunities you were afforded and creating more for those less fortunate. 

I look around these days and I don't understand what amounts to "success." My son spent several minutes in line at Disneyland researching the salaries of the costumed characters that appear at regular intervals at the self-proclaimed "happiest place on earth." It was his observation that the only way that these folks could survive in the economic climate of Southern California would be to have multiple roommates and live somewhat close to that allegorical bone. Learning that these performers were protected by a union suggested some relief from the looming presence of poverty. Still, as we climbed into our Matterhorn Bobsled, we wondered if we had what it takes to stand outside with Pluto helmet, as my son referred to it, over our heads in temperatures exceeding ninety degrees. 

My son graduated with a degree in theater arts, but has always been drawn to the backstage elements. Lights, cameras, that's where the action was for him. Which hasn't kept him from harboring a dream that has him piloting a boat down the artificially murky waters of the Jungle Cruise, spouting tired puns and worse jokes with the occasional fresh bit. 

Which makes me want to reconsider the need for a six figure salary. Bringing a smile to the face of a tired family from Oakland after sinking a chunk of money into a Disneyland vacation? I'd like to make some room in the American Dream for some of that kind of action.