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Zusatztext A frank and funny memoir. New York Post Informationen zum Autor Howie Mandel, with Josh Young Klappentext NATIONAL BESTSELLER An engaging no-holds-barred memoir that reveals Howie Mandel's ongoing struggle with OCD and ADHD-and how it has shaped his life Howie Mandel is one of the most recognizable names in entertainment. But there are aspects of his personal and professional life he's never talked about publicly-until now. Twelve years ago! Mandel first told the world about his "germophobia." He's recently started discussing his adult ADHD as well. Now! for the first time! he reveals the details of his struggle with these challenging disorders. He speaks candidly about the ways his condition has affected his personal life-as a son! husband! and father of three. Along the way! the versatile performer reveals "the deal" behind his remarkable rise through the show-business ranks! sharing never-before-told anecdotes about his career. As heartfelt as it is hilarious! Here's the Deal: Don't Touch Me is the story of one man's effort to draw comic inspiration out of his darkest! most vulnerable places. Chapter One Welcome to Me November 29, 1955. Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Mount Sinai Hospital. Howard Michael Mandel was born to Albert and Evelyn Mandel. I have absolutely no recollection of my infancy, but I'm told I was the happiest, most idyllic child, not to mention the cleanest child known to man. As excited as my mother must have been about having me, she tells me that she felt like a child herself. She was just twenty-three, and my father was twenty-nine. She was really nervous about her baby boy and wanted to protect him from the evils of the world at that time-the Commies, nuclear proliferation, and, most important, the invasion of germs. Whenever somebody came over to see her baby, God forbid they should touch little Howard's teeny fingers. As soon as they left, she would take me into the bathroom and scrub my hands with soap and water. If somebody sniffled and touched my crib, my mother would mark the spot in her mind. She would remember that it was two inches to the left of the headboard, and again, as soon as that person left the room, she would hit that spot with the Lysol, putting me back in my sterile environment. You might think this was over the top, but the apple didn't fall far from the tree. The first and all recollections I have of visiting my grandparents on my mother's side were of approaching the house and seeing my "bubbie" outside the front door on her hands and knees, waxing the concrete veranda. Waxing. Concrete. Outside. There was no way she was going to allow anyone to track filth into her home. She believed that this was the first line of defense toward maintaining a safe environment-that is, if you ignored the fact that it was very easy to slip and break your neck before you rang the doorbell. Let's weigh the odds here: no dirt on your feet, or a broken neck. She seemed to lean in favor of no dirt on the feet. Once you were inside, not much changed. As in many homes in the Northeast and Midwest, inside the door there was a tray where you could remove your boots so you didn't track mud and snow into the house. I know there was a boot tray, but my grandmother's was covered in newspaper, because God forbid the boots should touch the tray. In fact, I don't think I ever touched any of the furniture or carpets in her house because it was all covered with plastic. Everything was hermetically sealed in its place. So when I now see a picture of me as an infant, posed on a chair in my living room and separated from that chair by a sheet of plastic, it seems to make some sense. I started my life with the cleanest of slates, so to speak. Everything went swimmingly well for Howard for those first two and a half years in what was metaphorically a perfectly chlo...
ldquo;A frank and funny memoir.”
*—New York Post
Autorentext
Howie Mandel, with Josh Young
Klappentext
NATIONAL BESTSELLER
An engaging no-holds-barred memoir that reveals Howie Mandel's ongoing struggle with OCD and ADHD-and how it has shaped his life
Howie Mandel is one of the most recognizable names in entertainment. But there are aspects of his personal and professional life he's never talked about publicly-until now. Twelve years ago, Mandel first told the world about his "germophobia." He's recently started discussing his adult ADHD as well. Now, for the first time, he reveals the details of his struggle with these challenging disorders. He speaks candidly about the ways his condition has affected his personal life-as a son, husband, and father of three. Along the way, the versatile performer reveals "the deal" behind his remarkable rise through the show-business ranks, sharing never-before-told anecdotes about his career.
As heartfelt as it is hilarious, Here's the Deal: Don't Touch Me is the story of one man's effort to draw comic inspiration out of his darkest, most vulnerable places.
Zusammenfassung
**NATIONAL BESTSELLER
An engaging no-holds-barred memoir that reveals Howie Mandel’s ongoing struggle with OCD and ADHD—and how it has shaped his life
 
Howie Mandel is one of the most recognizable names in entertainment. But there are aspects of his personal and professional life he’s never talked about publicly—until now. Twelve years ago, Mandel first told the world about his “germophobia.” He’s recently started discussing his adult ADHD as well. Now, for the first time, he reveals the details of his struggle with these challenging disorders. He speaks candidly about the ways his condition has affected his personal life—as a son, husband, and father of three. Along the way, the versatile performer reveals “the deal” behind his remarkable rise through the show-business ranks, sharing never-before-told anecdotes about his career.
As heartfelt as it is hilarious, Here’s the Deal: Don’t Touch Me is the story of one man’s effort to draw comic inspiration out of his darkest, most vulnerable places.
Leseprobe
*Chapter One
Welcome to Me
As excited as my mother must have been about having me, she tells me that she felt like a child herself. She was just twenty-three, and my father was twenty-nine. She was really nervous about her baby boy and wanted to protect him from the evils of the world at that time-the Commies, nuclear proliferation, and, most important, the invasion of germs.
Whenever somebody came over to see her baby, God forbid they should touch little Howard's teeny fingers. As soon as they left, she would take me into the bathroom and scrub my hands with soap and water. If somebody sniffled and touched my crib, my mother would mark the spot in her mind. She would remember that it was two inches to the left of the headboard, and again, as soon as that person left the room, she would hit that spot with the Lysol, putting me back in my sterile environment.
You might think this was over the top, but the apple didn't fall far from the tree. The first and all recollections I have of visiting my grandparents on my mother's side were of approaching the house and seeing my "bubbie" outside the front door on her hands and knees, waxing the concrete veranda. Waxing. Concrete. Outside. There was no way she was going to allow anyone to track filth into her home. She believed that this was the first line of defense toward maintaining a safe environment-that is, if you ignored the fact that it was very easy to slip and break your neck before you rang the doorbell. Let's weigh the odd…