In early May 1992, as much of Los Angeles smoldered in an uprising known as the L.A. riots, my mother, brother and I took an impulse trip down the 5 Freeway to Disneyland. It’s a memory I recall vividly, with mixed emotions because of the events that consumed the city that week.
My younger brother had just turned 9 and was promised a birthday at Disneyland, but the acquittal of the cops who viciously beat Rodney King changed our plans. The uprising that ensued made my mother’s work at L.A. County hospital (where she is still a nurse) frantic and dangerous, so she and her colleagues hunkered down in Boyle Heights as they worked long shifts.
My brother and I stayed with relatives. Disneyland was the last thing on our minds.
