Maybe Next Year

         One of the first gigs I went on dressed as a clown in full white-face make-up was what was called a walk-around in the petting zoo section of the Buffalo Zoo as a member of the Buffalo Clown Alley in 1977. I was unrecognizable. The children smiled. They were smiling at the clown. I took it personally, feeling that the smiles were for me. That made me warm and happy – just like the clown was making the children happy.

            There were a lot of cute dads there too, also smiling at the clown. The zoo is a popular place for divorced dads on their weekends with the kids. The dads did not know the human they were smiling at. Since I was unmarried at the time, it was a bittersweet feeling – available men liking the clown while the available woman was invisible. Shucks.

            Because the costume made me less self-conscious about myself, I could be a clown without worrying about judgment from others about my looks – the divorced dads did not dismiss me for being not attractive enough for them – they did not dismiss me for not caring enough about my own hair/make-up/figure/clothing – they smiled at the clown, who was me inside.

             If only I could be invisible all the time, hiding inside the clown, making others happy and that being reward enough for my existence. Yeah, invisibility would totally be my choice for super-power.

             But there are those out there who do not like clowns. They think clowns are scary. Children and adults alike fear the unknown that the clowns seem to represent. And there have been so many instances in fiction and real life where clowns have been evil. But clowns are not monsters. Inside every clown is a real person.

            Which brings me to my sixth and totally personal statement of the words that I live by in my philosophy of life:

             Clowns are people too.

             Just a smile from you might make all the difference between monster and human!

363 20151229 Maybe Next Year