Chapter 2 - First Steps to the White House

Michael's early years in Candy Mountain, Texas, where ones he would go on to fondly remember. The town, a lush green hill in the middle of the desert, was surrounded by American flags growing in the fields. The roads were made of yellow bricks and lollipops grew on the trees. The lamp posts were made of candy sticks and bubble gum chimneys topped gingerbread houses. The sun always shines in America, except when horror movies are being filmed, that is, and everyone walked around with smiles on their faces.

Minerva and John were doting parents and loved their son very much, showing their affection for their third child by dressing him in a hat like the Coronel and in a little stars and stripes jump suit. Women passing in the street cooed at him in his pram and smiled down at the handsome baby that peered up at them from the blanket.

Michael's educational development was rapid. At six months his parents took their son to Washington D.C. It was at this point that Michael uttered his first words. Minerva tells how it happened:

"We were stood at the gates to the White House. I remember it was a beautiful day, the sun, of course, was shining and there were flags everywhere and we'd just eaten a good, nutritional McDonalds and the walls of the oval office were gleaming in the brightness. I remember little Michael's blue eyes opened wide as he saw the building and he pointed at it and said 'White House'. It was so cute."

Michael's voice was, however, a cause for concern. The high pitched squeak with which he spoke resulted in dogs running towards the pram in which he lay and was considered highly unmanly for a true American. Medical examinations failed to reveal the cause of the problem and doctors were unable to cite the root of Michael's condition. His parents, however, realised that this was a result of his delayed birth and John often chastised his wife for not pushing harder.

"I knew what the problem was," he says, "we all did. I'm sorry to say I blamed Minerva, it wasn't her fault of course, but dang nabbit, I was worried about my boy. How could I take him down the football field when he grew up with a voice like that? How would he ever be able to call for a hotdog at the big game?"

Despite these setbacks, Michael was a happy child and often played in the garden of his home beneath the candy floss clouds. One day, as he was running out for the ice cream van, he tripped and fell.

"Hot diggety, I felt for the kid," says Burt Bush, the friendly local ice cream man. "He fell so hard on those rough yellow bricks and blood trickled from his knee. He screwed up his little face so tight that I thought he were gonna burst into tears. But d'ya know what he did? D'ya know what he did? He sang the national anthem. [Burt, at this point, wipes a tear from his eye.] He sang it so well in that little high pitched voice of his. It was beautiful. I gave him an ice cream for free."

Michael's accident reassured John and Minerva of the manliness of their son, because real American men don't cry. Ever.

Michael spent much of his time watching television, especially Sesame Street, at which he would often giggle at the big yellow bird and recite the letters of the alphabet. He often questioned his mother why one of them lived in a trash can [i.e. a rubbish bin] and wondered why the authorities failed to eject such a hobo from the country. John and Minerva just smiled, proud at their son's Americaness. Sesame Street started him reading and he plunged into wonderful child literature such Puddle Lane, Where's Wally? and Bif, Chip and Kipper.

When Michael was four he was taken to his first ball game. John recounts the experience:

"It was a wonderful sunny day and we had hot dogs and those big foam hands with the finger pointing upwards and things were going great. The Candy Mountain Powerpuffs were three up and had scored a number of home runs when Michael decided he was going to cheer for his team. Well, that little squeaky voice there got all the men around looking at him and they turned real nasty. They'd had a few beers [John means Budweisers, an American imitation of beer] and they didn't like that a boy talked like a girl. Well, we had to get out of there real quick or little Mickey wouldn't have survived to see the White House next summer."

The family attended Candy Mountain Baptist Church every Sunday, where Pastor Jonny B. Goode preached the same sermon each week, in which he merely shouted "Chaaaaange" while jumping around the front. He explains his motives for such reptitive preaching:

"The Lord spoke to me when I started my ministry, I said he spoke to me and he said Jonny, Jonny he said, you gonna instill chaaaaaange in those good brothers and sisters of Candy Mountain. You gonna instill chaaaaaange there, he said. He didn't tell me what that chaaaaaange was and I still waiting on the Lord to tell me so I can give my brothers and sisters the next part of the Lord's message because I believe it will come, uh-huh, I believe it will come, that's what I believe. I been in my ministry near forty years now and I still waiting, but my God is a faithful God and he will speak. Can I get an amen, brother?"

Such teaching would prepare Michael well for his role in the oval office.