People who know me have heard this story. I get to save some time writing it because I also used this story as part of a "Traumatic Experiences From My Childhood" speech for school. 

When I was about four or five I went with my family to Disney World in Orlando, Florida. I was a huge Mickey Mouse fan, and all I really wanted to do was see Mickey, or as I referred to him, "Mee Mow". He was pretty hard to find. 

The first Disney character that we saw was the Big Bad Wolf - and I started screaming and crying in terror, "Don't let him get me! NOOOOOO!" 

THE BIG BAD WOLF!!!

Today, the part of the Big Bad Wolf will be
played by this guy - let's just call him Bill.

Of course, my father started singing, "Who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf", you know, to freak me out. Everybody got a good laugh at that. Haha. I think the next character we met was one of those incredibly evil witches from Sleeping Beauty or Snow White - so I screamed some more. I was afraid of quite a few things then - The Big Bad Wolf, evil Disney Witches, heights, the garbage truck, the Boogy Man, Jimmy Carter, Darth Vader. 

Sure, there were a few harmless characters wandering around. My parents were saying, "Look, Mike! There's Pluto!", or "There's Chip, or is it Dale?", or, "There's that... cow! From that... one cartoon!" I didn't give a rat's ass. I was there to see the Big Shots. Finally, my parents spotted a character who might fit the bill - Mickey Mouse's jealous rival...

Donald Duck.

The Face of Evil.

So there was hope. I was quite excited to see Donald, who was (as far as cartoon celebrities go) second only to the almighty Mickey Mouse. He was within visual range, but he was still pretty far away. It took a while to walk to him. Once we got there, my parents let him know that they wanted to get pictures of him with me. So, in order to be friendly, Donald kneeled down, and went like he wanted to play-box with me. Well… he slipped and punched me in the stomach - pretty damned hard. He knocked the wind out of me. 

"WHY, DONALD, WHY?," I thought. "What did I do to invoke your wrath?"

As I fell to the ground, gasping for breath, I heard my father saying, "Come on, he barely touched you". I don't care how big and bad you think you are. If a talking duck that is three times bigger than you even taps you, you're gonna notice it. 

Size differential between 4-year old child and Donald Duck. 
I added a Velociraptor for comparison.

I remember not being able to catch enough breath to cry. Now, this may be my adult imagination adding to my memories, but I could swear that I heard a deep voice inside the suit saying, "You okay, kid?"

I don't remember what happened after that. I must've blacked out (I'm exaggerating). I assume that I finally saw Mickey, got some photos (and maybe one of those mouse-ear balloons), and went on to lead a normal, unproductive, pointless life. So everything's peachy. God, I'm so lonely.

Now, how have these events affected me as an adult? Well, these days, whenever I see a six foot tall duck, I run in the other direction as fast as possible, yelling, "Leave me alone, Donald! I didn't do anything to you!" (Sometimes I just curl up into a fetal position and scream). 

Of course, I also realize that it was an accident, and the guy probably had trouble seeing and judging distance from inside a sweltering duck suit. As a young boy, however, I truly believed that Donald Duck wanted to hurt me.

-Michael