I come from a large family, with 16 cousins. My cousins studied well and moved to the U.S. When we all gathered together for special occasions, they would be well groomed and confident. I was the odd, useless one out. All I wanted was to be able to earn without my dad’s help and be self-sufficient enough to own a house and a vehicle.
My dad read, I think, the Perry Mason mysteries and Zane Grey and some humor compendiums… And then at one point, the bookmobile started coming to town. That was really cool. I mean, that was when I read my first Raymond Carver story. I think that was probably 1969 or so. I must have been 13.
The ‘Tough Man’ contests were for 21-year-olds, but I weighed 150 pounds at 13, so I got a fake ID card and entered. My dad and uncles had given me an edge, so having a boxing background made it easier because a lot of the older guys didn’t know how to fight.
My dad was an immigrant kid and a Democrat and a Jew, and we didn’t know any Republicans in our group. So I grew up Democratic. My dad was a labor lawyer – a very hardworking guy, a one-horse labor lawyer – and then I went to hippie college and lived in the bubble.
I didn’t want to miss that opportunity to be able to enjoy an afternoon fishing with my dad which is something we had done growing up a ton of times on Lake Michigan and it was funny that it kind of turned into an attention thing than I expected and even more than if I would have gone to the draft.
My father had a real short fuse. He had a tough life – had to support his mother and brother at a very young age when his dad’s farm collapsed. You could see his suffering, his terrible suffering, living a life that was disappointing and looking for another one. My father was full of terrifying anger.
When I was a small child we were allowed to wait up until midnight on 31 December. Then as the TV chimed, Dad would run to the front door and open it, welcoming the New Year air. This is the kind of entertainment you make in poor families, and cry to your therapist about when you’re rich.
I mean, being a stuntwoman never occurred to me until I gave up gymnastics and started doing martial arts and met people that were stunt people. I was like, ‘What? Wait. You get to fight and flip and get paid?’ I was like, ‘Mum, dad, check this out – I could do this stuff and get paid instead of having you guys pay for me to do it.’
Even when I lost my job at CBS News, I set up shop in my youngest daughter’s bedroom and started Brainstormin’ Productions and the Hannah Storm Foundation. And guess who was there, visiting me and enthusiastically making business charts and graphs that covered my entire kitchen table? My dad, of course.
My dad’s Nigerian, and I remember going to Nigeria, and all of these kids and adults and everyone in-between knew who TuPac was. They had TuPac t-shirts, TuPac posters, TuPac cassettes… everyone knew TuPac, and sometimes that was the only English that they spoke, was TuPac lyrics.
My dad left when I was a little boy and I grew up with my mother’s family. There were foundations in the U.S. where Jewish people got together and sent money to Cuba, so we got some of that. We were a poor family, but I was always a happy kid.
I have one brother, John, an airline pilot, who is seven years younger. He’s adopted, though we’re still blood related – he’s my cousin. My parents couldn’t have any more children after me, so when Dad’s brother died, they adopted John, then just a baby.
My dad owns his own towing business, and my dad used to tow Hulk Hogan’s cars back and forth from Clearwater to different shops and stuff. And they had a relationship where when the cars would get done getting fixed, he’d pick it back up and take it back to Hulk Hogan’s house.
I think in my case, I had no choice but to have a good sense of humor. I grew up with my dad, Danny Thomas, and George Burns and Bob Hope and Milton Berle and Sid Caesar and all those guys were at our house all the time and telling jokes and making each other laugh.
My dad spent most of the ‘50s and early ’60s actually acting as sort of an advance man for the Justice Department, as a civil rights lawyer. So it was actually reading his papers after he passed away a few years ago that first started me thinking about this… What fraction of your life do you spend in service to your fellow man?
I’ve always loved video games. I played ‘Ms. Pac-man’ with my dad, and I Ioved ‘Galaga’ and ‘Tempest’ and grew up on the standing arcade games. Even to this day, my dad will call me if he’s playing ‘Ms. Pac-man’ and hold the phone up to the game.
My dad loves to be talked about, good or bad. He just loves it. He’s not even hearing the content, he’s just hearing him. When I’m onstage, he’s looking at the audience members and can’t believe that there are strangers listening to me, and he’s just delighted by the whole thing.
My dad’s an artist, and my grandfather paints – he’s not a painter; my grandfather’s a butcher – but he does a lot of crafts, stained glass, painting, that stuff. There is art in our family, and I was an art major in college along with being a theater major.
I wanted to be a senator from Illinois. I was obsessed with politics. My dad was friends with a lot of local politicians, so I would hang out with them on Election Day and hand out buttons. Somehow, even though they were opposite, I loved Ronald Reagan and Bill Clinton. I thought they were the coolest guys!
My house was a revolving door. You walk in, you walk out, you get whatever you can eat, you leave, you go hang out with friends. I’m on my mission, my sister’s on another mission, my dad is working trying to provide, my mom is trying to do the same thing. And somehow, we’re all co-existing with each other.
My undergraduate degree was in art history! Raising money for Chipotle was really my MBA. The money for my first restaurant came from my dad, the second from mostly cash flow. The third was an SBA loan. After my dad invested $1.5 million to open a few more, he suggested I raise the money myself for the experience.
The 20th anniversary of my dad David’s death coincided with my 50th Test cap and for it to be my mum Janet’s birthday, too, made it an emotional few days. It was not an easy week, being the Pink Test and my mum having had breast cancer twice.
My mum and dad aren’t together, but she plays a massive part in my life. We have deep conversations: I tell her where I need support, where I feel she’s lacking, and I support her with whatever she needs. I understand she won’t be here forever, and I want no regrets.
I’ve never been one to throw clubs, break clubs, or use bad language on the golf course. I’ve played with golfers who’ve done that, and I really hate to see it. If I did something like that, my dad would come get the putter and hit me upside the head with it. I knew better.
Religion features more now in my life than it did when I was a kid – my dad rejected the Catholic church as a young man. I had no religious upbringing, but certainly, Dad was a kind of secular humanist. I don’t know if he was an atheist or agnostic. I regret I didn’t talk to him about it.
