Hilda the Christmas Goat’s alter ego, Craig, greets us just after his performance at Stone Mountain Christmas. “Do you want to know how it works?” he asks my grandkids who have just witnessed the magic of an interactive entertainment.
Four heads nod.
“Remember when I asked if anyone had read the book about me? Well, I could see you from behind the screen,” he says, looking right at my eight-year old granddaughter, Jenna.
Normally, she is Chatty Cathy, but she’s still a tad stunned.
Finally, she answers. “How did you know I liked to read?” she asks.
“Just a guess,” he says. “You were reading the posters about the other books by Jennifer Liu Bryan. It wasn’t hard to figure out.”
He explains that from behind the screen, he can not only see and interact with audience members, but manipulate the actions of Hilda as she goes through her antics of hiding behind a bale of hay or jumping over it. “It’s all electronic, like a computer,” he says. “Was it fun?”
Again, four heads nod. “Will you show us how it works?” Jenna asks. Craig declines. “It would ruin the magic,” he says. “But I hope you’ll come see me again.” If it’s up to the grandkids, we will, next time with nine-year old Jael who was at a birthday party.
After a brief disagreement about what to do first, we began with the Skyride, an oversized ski-lift to the top of the granite hunk known as Stone Mountain. It’s a not-to-be missed combination of the marvels of Mother Nature and man-made engineering. Hardier souls can also climb the mountain to the 1,686 foot summit, but miss the stunning up-close view of the three Confederate heroes, carved on the face—Stonewall Jackson, Robert E. Lee, and Jefferson Davis. Named the highest relief sculpture in the world, the carvings are 400 feet high and longer than a football field.
Once at the top, we cut the kids loose. Jenna and five-year old Idan—the only granboy—race around as sure footed as Hilda. Twelve-year old Mia picks out a comfortable rock and plops down to text her friends on my new iPhone. Megan, ever the nine-year old lady, sticks with me. I point out the skyline of Atlanta and the King and Queen building near Perimeter Mall. Walking gingerly across the moon-like surface, I’m careful to avoid the small craters filled with water from the recent rains while the show tune, “On a Clear Day, You Can See Forever,” pops into my head.
