A Little Girl Who Loved Clowns...

Well, you’ve heard about my childhood opera phase, and how I’ve been a wannabe prima donna for quite a long time now. For nearly twenty years, to be exact. What you don’t know though, but to which I briefly alluded in my last post, is that before my opera phase, I went through a clown phase. That’s right, folks. I wanted to be a clown. Not just for Halloween, not just for a costume party, not even just for fun, but professionally. I guess the positive thing I can take away from this embarrassing fact is that I’ve always had professional ambition. I didn’t just want to be any old clown, I wanted to be in the big leagues of clowning like Bozo or Ronald McDonald. I had high hopes.

Just like my opera craze, I’m not exactly sure how this obsession started. I guess it’s just another mystery to add to the books I’ll eventually write about my weird life. At any rate, I was dead set on becoming a professional clown from the age of three until I was almost five. I wore a clown suit, rainbow wig, and clown nose every day. Just imagine it. A clown nose. Every day for almost two years. All of that mouth breathing. No wonder I had to have braces TWICE as a teenager. Anyway, I drove my parents crazy with my antics. I listened to circus music every day, rehearsed routines, watched circus videos, the works. And what’s most embarrassing is that I wouldn’t go anywhere without my full clown attire. One day (and my dad just loves telling this story), my dad took me to the grocery store, and of course, I was dressed in my clown suit and full regalia. Well, while we were shopping, a lady stopped us, took a look at me and said, “Oh, how adorable! Do you want to be a clown for Halloween, Sweetie?” And my dad, a mere shell of a man having been worn down by continual circus music, replied without missing a beat, “For Halloween?! Lady, she wants to be one PROFESSIONALLY.” And walked away, his little clown in tow. 

You may be wondering how this phase ever came to an end, and I can assure you it most definitely did. Although you may still find me rehearsing death scenes in my spare time, you will not find me in a rainbow wig and clown nose, folding balloons into little farm animals (thank goodness). What really ended the phase is quite hilarious and speaks volumes of the value I put on my individuality. 

It was Halloween, and I was almost five years old. Given my fondness for all things clown, my parents and grandparents decided it would be a great idea for all five of us to go trick-or-treating dressed as clowns. And my family went all out. I was their only child/grandchild, and I was still in those twilight years when every holiday felt like a special revelation. Have you ever just stopped and thought about how magical holidays were when you were a child? I’m not just talking about Christmas, but every holiday, every birthday, oh, and summer! Summer used to be full of adventure and discovery! The older we get, the more ordinary everything becomes. I wish I could recapture that magic. But anyway, back to my story. It was Halloween, and my entire family was dressed to the nines in clown attire. I’ve seen the pictures, and they really went all out with this idea. My dad even dressed up, and as I’ve already said, that’s a huge deal. But do you think they could get me to wear a clown costume that day? No. I refused. They had stolen my thunder, and I was not happy. I went trick or treating with a frown on my face and a rejected rainbow wig in my hand, and after that day, the clown phase virtually disappeared. No more clown suit, no more rainbow afro, no more clown nose and mouth breathing. I had retired and entered civilian life once more. My parents finally slept easy at night knowing that when they woke up, the first sound to grace their ears would no longer be the Ringling Brothers.

Now, I guess the clown thing didn’t completely disappear, because once I became an opera lover, the first opera to gain my young appreciation was I Pagliacci. The Clowns. So you see, everything comes full circle. Clowns will probably haunt me for the rest of my life, but not in the way that they haunt most people. Clowns are a skeleton in my closet, but not a boogeyman under my bed. But I guess I’m okay with that. So, now you know probably one of the weirdest things about me. I’ve almost completely resigned myself to the fact that I will never live this phase of my life down. I say almost because there’s still a small part of me that really just wants to nonchalantly pretend it never happened. But it’s really hard to just nonchalantly pretend that you’re not dressed as a clown in more than half of your childhood pictures. Anyway, not only am I telling you this because it’s funny, but also because it robs my parents of the joy of using this information against me in a blackmail situation. I’m going public with this of my own accord while I still have the chance. I was a childhood clown. There, I said it. Now you know.

Here's where it all began...

This was my opera birthday party cake. It's Canio, the sad, homicidal clown of Leoncavallo's famous opera, I Pagliacci. 

Stay tuned for the next post, if you please!