Hard Cuddles. James Harding

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      — Muhammad Ali

      As a young fella, my Dad was always my hero. We have a very deep connection and the trust and understanding we have goes back many lifetimes. He is a good, strong man who prides himself on being honest and direct. I can rely on Dad and I have always felt safe with him.

      One night we headed off to Maccas in Oakleigh. This was a huge deal because Maccas wasn’t everywhere at this stage and families used to cook every night. So going out for dinner was big deal and, correct me if I’m wrong, but McDonald’s used to taste good.

      I shouldn’t really remember this story at all, but my memory for some things is astonishing. As we got to Maccas, I went into the children’s playground and Mum and Dad went to order. I remember playing away and then in came this slightly older kid. My senses went off and I started watching him.

      This kid looked over to me and said ‘You see that big rock over there?’ and I said, ‘Yes’. He told me he was going to smash it over my head. I won’t ever forget the feeling of sheer terror as this kid walked over to the rock to pick it up. It was absolutely terrifying. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t do anything. I just stood there and waited for my fate at the hands of a psychotic juvenile at Oakleigh McDonald’s.

      As the kid made his way over to me, the playground door opened and a deep voice said, ‘Where do you think you are going with that?’ It was Dad. I immediately felt safe and knew everything was going to be okay. The kid dropped the rock and Dad came and gave me a cuddle. I remember being pretty shaken up. Dad has always been a super emotional and affectionate person, so when he hugs you, well, you stay hugged. As a child it was really wonderful to have a Dad around that cared, you just knew he was always going to be in your corner. His timing and his ability to make us all feel safe, carries him into the top echelon of fathers.

      Can you imagine what could have happened if he was looking at Facebook or Instagram instead of watching me? I may not be writing this book.

      ADDICTED AT 6 YEARS OLD

      ‘Every form of addiction is bad, no matter whether the narcotic be alcohol or morphine or idealism.’

      — Carl Jung

      As early as I can remember I have had an insatiable addiction to any sort of mind-altering substance. In fact, I am easily addicted to anything: food, fun, alcohol, drugs, people, a good time, anything that gets the adrenaline pumping.

      My earliest recollection of being addicted to drugs was in grade two. It was spring and a lovely sunny day. I have always suffered from asthma and on a couple of occasions it got quite serious. I always carried a Ventolin asthma puffer. On this particular day I was tearing around the playground when I noticed that I was short of breath. I had experienced this before and realised an asthma attack was not far off, so I immediately walked back to the school and made my way upstairs to the classroom.

      When I found my bag hanging on its hook out the front of the classroom, I grabbed the Ventolin and took two puffs. Just above the row of hooks was a window that overlooked the whole playground. While I stood there and waited for the medication to work, I had a thought. What would happen if I continued to keep on puffing?

      I held the Ventolin in my mouth and I continued to squeeze the pump over and over again. Call me crazy, but I had this overwhelming sense of excitement as to what was going to happen and that was when I slowly started to feel like I was stepping away from my body. It was full steam ahead. Pssht, pssht, pssht, I was pressing away. That’s when I heard that magical word for the first time. SFIDFIDA is what it sounded like. That’s the only way I can describe it. This sound came in waves from the left eardrum and moved into the right eardrum over and over again. That noise, SFIDFIDA was the direct result of hallucinating from taking too much Ventolin. I was well aware what I was doing was forbidden but I just could not stop. Pssht, pssht, pssht, I kept pressing, the SFIDFIDA got louder and more present. It felt like someone was singing straight through my head. In my mind it felt like I was watching myself, watching the kids running around the school playground and I can recall thinking, ‘I bet they’re not having as much fun as me.’

      I was in such a peaceful state of mind. It was undoubtedly dangerous and I’m sure I knew this, but the issue of safety had never entered my mind, it still doesn’t. My ability to always feel safe is part of my genetic make-up and is probably a massive part of the reason nothing sinister has really happened to me. That and a dash of good luck.

      Pssht, pssht, pssht, now it seemed like I was getting further and further away from my body and the SFIDFIDA noise was getting more prominent. I realised it may be the time to just enjoy the fruits of my labour and continue my quest for the ultimate buzz at a later date. The Ventolin dropped down to my thigh with my hand attached to it. I felt like some sort of grand conductor standing on the second floor, directing and controlling with my mind the little school children down below, running around like ants.

      My Ventolin puffing extravaganzas only subsided when Mum realised I was burning through these puffers at a rapid rate, she took me to see an asthma specialist, Dr McIntyre, one of the leading asthma men in Melbourne. He had the gall to question the regularity and administration of my application. If anything I was proactive, rather than overzealous. The two of them ganged up on me, the old divide and conquer routine. I had seen my school teachers try this on me. I held firm to my denial of the accusations against my good name, till the doc suggested that if one was to continue using Ventolin at this rate, one would risk the chance of getting emphysema. What the fuck? Now I was all for having a good time, but this startling revelation was too much. Still…the seed had been sown.

      THE DOG BITE

      ‘Don’t let the same dog bite you twice.’

      — Chuck Berry

      It was a reasonably overcast day. My sister and I were playing in the front garden when Jerusalem Joe, our next door neighbour popped over to our house and asked my parents if I could go for a bike ride with him. Jerusalem Joe was fond of me and made a real effort to include me in his activities. He managed three daughters and I guess he considered me the little boy he longed for. Jerusalem Joe was a unique looking specimen, very much from the David Helfgott mould, the real life piano player that inspired the Oscar for Geoffrey Rush in the movie Shine.

      Jerusalem Joe was a trailblazer in the fashion stakes as well. You would often see him tearing around Bentleigh in a pair of tracksuit pants, Velcro runners and a leather man-bag. Not the sort of man-bag you see the men of today carrying with the leather shoulder strap. This was more of a man-purse with a little leather strap that you put around your wrist. I was always amazed by his trendsetting bag. Once I filled in at Jerusalem Joe’s company for a day and his employees all called him ‘the enigma’, due to his hyperactivity.

      I was riding a hand-me-down BMX from one of my cousins. Dad had done it up with a new seat and hand grips to make it passable. In hindsight it was awful, but at the time I thought it was very special.

      We were about a block away from our houses when we turned into Austin Street and I had a feeling as soon as I turned into the street, that something was not right. There were lots of people pottering around and then it happened.

      Jerusalem Joe was about ten metres in front of me as we were halfway down the street and everything started to slow down. I heard a dog barking and a man yelling. I recall it was getting closer to me. I looked to see this grey blur coming towards me. Jerusalem Joe by this stage had stopped to look back at what was happening because this motherfucker was growling and making a godawful noise.

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