I was at Disneyland for the Fourth of July (or, as dogs refer to it, Annual Armageddon Day). And while normally I chafe at Disney’s corporate worldview and misogynist fairy tales in perpetuity, I get why the Mouse House boasts that it’s the happiest place on earth.

If you’re the right age, perhaps it is.

Sitting on the ledge of a fountain in downtown Disney in Anaheim, I saw a dad walking his son, perhaps three, to the water to toss in a coin and make a wish.

He handed a penny to the boy — dressed head to toe in a tiny Los Angeles Angels baseball uniform — and told him to make a wish. The boy gazed at the cent, new and tangerine shiny.

“Make a wish and throw it in,” Dad said.

Without hesitation, the child hurled it into the fountain. Then he teetered perilously over the ledge to look at the shimmering coin floor, at least half of which was silver.

Dad tottered the boy back from the fountain before it became a mini swimming pool. He stooped behind his son, and wrapped a hand around him and over his stomach, speaking into his ear.

“Do you know what a wish is?” dad asked. The boy shook his head.

“A wish is something you want,” the dad said, rummaging for another penny. “Take this, think of something you want, and toss in the coin. Maybe it will come true.”

You could almost see the light bulb go off. And I realized I was witnessing a child learning how to wish. What a human experience. How many times would he exercise this new skill, to daydream? And for what will he pine, aside from being a Big Leaguer? Bringing a stuffed animal to life? Living in Disneyland? And in years to come; falling in love? Getting into school? Being a father?

One thing was certain: Dad had better keep a pocketful of change from this day forward. Because whenever they pass a fountain, kid’s gonna want wishing moolah.

Clearly, he got the concept.  Dad asked if he understood. Kid nodded like a stoner at a Metallica concert. Yes, yes, yes. Now where’s that penny?

Dad put it into his boy’s hand. Kid hesitated for a second, closed his fingers and looked at his tiny clench. And concentrated. Furrowed his brows while he decided on a wish, as if the wrong one could bring calamity. He drew his arm back, more assured this time.

“I want more money!” he yelled, throwing the coin twice as deep into the fountain this time.

Dad stood up and turned around. He dropped his hand, extending an index finger. Kid reached over his head and clasped the finger as he had the Lincoln head. They walked back to a family of a half dozen.

“You know,” the dad said. “Sometimes I wish for that, too.”