Sitting in my family’s basement is a huge cardboard box filled with snow globes. The box is stained from ones that had broken over the years, their glittery water having oozed out. Too heartbroken to see any of them damaged, I haven’t looked at that box in years. When we were both young, I collected snow globes while my brother kept keychains, one from each state that we had visited on the road.

   Growing up, my dad took us to all sorts of places for his job; he’s a reporter who writes stories about education, meeting with teachers, students, and families all across the country. He’d bring us along and tell us how much he loved driving, even across what I used to call ‘really boring roads’. Far from it, my dad now tells me, they were the best way to see America. He says it was a chance to meet and expose us to real people, those who were authentic, less jaded and perhaps with more honest views and opinions about life.

   One trip I still remember was to Kissimmee, Florida. At that time, ten-year-old me giggled at the name. Not too far from Orlando and home to a place called ‘Pleasure Island’, Kissimmee felt like a dream. Like melted oil pastels smeared over a pair of pink sunglasses. It was hazy, warm, and colorful.

   Kissimmee stretched down a long road: the town was flat and the buildings sat low, although noisy with tourists. Florida’s hot, humid air seemed to pull everything apart like taffy. My dad reminds me that at the time, a powerful storm had just blown through damaging many structures. Road crews were left to clean up pieces of trees and litter scattered along the road. Huge billboards were bent, broken, but, incredibly, what remained standing were the town’s amusement parks and mini-golf courses. What also remained were these really odd souvenir mega-shops. Those are what I remember the most about Kissimmee.

   Before walking in, you’re greeted by a ginormous wizard. His head towered over one particular store; he wore a pointy purple hat, a gray beard, and huge blue eyes. They stared at the little girl and her dad who wandered inside. My mouth hung open.

   Then there were other weird store mascots: blonde and busty mermaids, a trio of safari animals, and Marilyn Monroe herself—all of which promised wonders in their knick-knack paradise. What else did I expect to find but the World’s Greatest snow globe?

   We entered and were met with all sorts of crazy things. There were crocodile heads with gaping mouths and tiny teeth. Plastic statues of wizards wearing huge grins. Stuffed bears standing on their hind legs, frozen in time, and snarling at passerby. I snarled back.

   My dad let me be, telling me he was going to look for snow globes on the other side of the store. I was left to explore this strange land, alone. I felt a mysterious pull and walked towards the crocodile heads. Like some voodoo magic, the heads seemed to all speak at once.

Closer! Come closer! Free us…

  I hurried past their whispers with panic. Where’s dad? Where are the snow globes? I brushed past more oddities such as trendy rubber bracelets and trucker hats with ‘USA #1’ emblazoned on them. My eyes flashed everywhere, searching, searching. Behind me the crocodiles were laughing.

You’ll never find it…take us home, instead…

   I paused and looked around me. There were candies and chocolates, whoopee cushions and fake money. Smelly Play-Doh and scratch-n-sniff stickers, none of which I wanted to get close to. Surrounded by everything the world had to offer but snow globes, I was overwhelmed. How many hours has it been? Days? Tired and hungry, I kept wandering.

   Finally, I saw a vision. There he was looking at them, all of them. Beautiful, shiny snow globes! Small ones, short ones, big ones, tall ones. Ones that played music while the rest kept quiet. Some had tiny Florida palm trees inside. Others had little souvenir shops like the one we stood in—a twisted loop of space and time. Excited, I hurried over and took it all in.

   Which one would I take home? I asked my dad which one he liked best, and he answered, ‘‘Get one made of glass. The plastic ones look cheap.’’ I nodded, combing carefully through the selection before me. I had been staring at a mini crocodile head bobbing up and down in glitter-water when it hit me.

‘‘They’re all plastic!’’ I wailed.

   It was true; not a single glass-bodied ornament sat on any of the shelves. My dad then quickly looked around for a store owner or assistant, found one and asked him what the deal was. He shook his head and said that’s all they had.

   Crestfallen, we headed towards the exit onto the next knick-knack paradise. Suddenly I felt the pull again. I turned to my dad and said, ‘‘Wait, I forgot something.’’ Not fifteen minutes later we finally exited the store with one plastic bag in tow.

Thanks, friend…