For my sixth birthday, my father gave me a doll in the image of himself. It was
eerie to lift up that plastic effigy, seeing its stiff-lashed lids flick open, its painted
imitation of my father's make-up and smile, to set it on my knee, pull the string and hear
it say in a jolly monotone, "Raise your hand if you're happy!"
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If you ever watched "Captain Happy" as a kid, then you remember his trademark
laugh, like a hiccoughing seal, with a perky little snort at the end. That's what would
unsettle me the most, and as I'd pull the cord between his shoulder blades, I'd half-hope,
half-dread for that laugh to come out of him. Once, when his batteries were dying, his
voice got so low and gravelly that I knew he must be mad at me.
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To me, Captain Happy was like a channelled spirit, an entity hovering over my
family, watching our antics with a jovial omniscience. It took me years to figure out why
Mom would sarcastically refer to Dad as "Captain Cokey" and "Boozo the Clown" in
those conversations I wasn't supposed to overhear with her friends. Once, when I asked
why she had to work so much, she snapped, "Because your father put all our money up his
nose!" This was a strange image, to say the least, but I knew better than to question her
when she used that exasperated tone.
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Every morning before school, I'd eat my Cheerios and watch Dad on T.V.
Sometimes he'd take Bonnie and me up to the studio with him, so we could be in the
audience. My impatience as he gave out candy and balloons afterwards was made
tolerable by the pride I felt simply because the man in the clown suit was my father.
Once, however, feeling a need to slipstream his fame, I told the boy next to me,
"That's my Dad," and he gave me such a "so what?" look, that even if he did believe me,
it obviously didn't matter. As we waited in the hallway for Dad to change, I decided I liked
him better in his street clothes. With no one recognizing him, Bonnie and I could have him
all to ourselves. And then on the way home, he'd invariably stop at IHOP (I have never eaten
anywhere with my father other than a pancake house) telling the waitress, "Strawberry waffles
for us men," and giving me a wink.
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