Life and Laughing_ My Story - Michael McIntyre [53]
Scene 2: We’re cruising down Rodeo Drive in my dad’s Jaguar. He opens the sunroof. I squirt the windscreen fluid which projects through the roof and into his face. We both laugh hysterically.
Scene 3: We sit next to each other on Colossus, the highest rollercoaster in the world. The car slowly ascends to its full height and then tears downwards, twisting and turning at high speeds. It comes to a halt. We both vomit and then laugh hysterically.
Scene 4: We’re playing ball in the garden. He’s wearing an American football helmet and throws an American football, cut to me dressed as a cricketer. I hit the ball into next door’s garden. It hits a sunbathing John Travolta in the head. We laugh hysterically.
Scene 5: We’re sipping hot chocolate with marshmallows and watching a movie before bed. I’m in my pyjamas and he’s in a dressing gown with the word ‘Dad’ written on the back.
Cat Stevens fades out.
During my trips across the pond, I really embraced the American way of life. I became an all-American kid overnight. I loved baseball, I told everybody to have a nice day and I put massive amounts of weight on my arse. I actually became obsessed with baseball. I passionately supported the LA Dodgers. I watched all the games on TV and can still name all the players, who invariably had names tailor-made for the over-the-top American commentators, my favourites being Darryl Strawberry, Pedro Guerrero and Orel Hershiser.
A trip to Disneyland while visiting our dad in Los Angeles. We were having so much fun with him that we failed to notice the couple behind us lose their child in the ravine.
The highlight of my first trip was when my dad and I went to Dodger Stadium to watch a game. The Dodgers were clinging on to a 1-0 lead when it was the turn of Danny Heep to hit. Danny Heep wasn’t a regular in the team. I had never seen him hit the ball once. In my three weeks of following baseball, I had concluded that Danny Heep was useless. I turned to my dad and said, ‘Danny Heep is shit.’
To which my dad said, ‘Heep of shit.’ He then proceeded to chant, ‘HEEP OF SHIT, HEEP OF SHIT, HEEP OF SHIT.’ Before long the crowd surrounding us started to join in, ‘HEEP OF SHIT, HEEP OF SHIT.’ My father’s unsupportive jibe was spreading around the stadium. Soon the entire Dodger Stadium was chanting, ‘HEEP OF SHIT’, including the other players, children and even Danny Heep himself (I may be exaggerating). Heep naturally struck out and returned to the dug-out. My dad and I laughed hysterically.
My father continued to smoke constantly. As any wife would be, Holly was worried about his health. Her idea to stop him smoking was to start smoking herself. Her theory was that he would be so worried about her health that they would both quit. This, of course, backfired, and she too became a heavy smoker. But when they weren’t coughing, they seemed deliriously happy, and so were Lucy and I on our visits.
One of the most powerful memories of my early teenage years was how I felt when I returned to England knowing it would be six or nine months until I saw him again. This was the first proper pain I had experienced in my life. I didn’t feel heartache when my parents got divorced. I didn’t miss my dad when I only saw him at weekends. I didn’t even feel particularly upset when we said our goodbyes in Los Angeles. I was excited to get home to see my mum and little brothers. But when I got back to Golders Green and I was wide awake in the middle of the night with jet lag, I yearned for him. I missed him so much.
My bedroom was in the converted loft, and I would creep downstairs to find Lucy in exactly the same state as myself. Crying and longing for our dad. There was a lot of talk by both our parents through the years about how decisions were made for the best – logical, reasonable arguments about how life would be better this way – and most of the time I agreed. You just get on with life, that’s how you survive.