A clown without kids nearby is just a grown-up dressed in weird clothes looking kind of forlorn. Kids bring a certain kind of fun with them that goes away when they leave. And no one misses that fun more than clowns.
I had a chance to work at an elementary school kids' carnival not too long ago. My job was to help kids decorate little triangles of paper, then glue them to the masts of popsicle-stick boats/rafts. They were pretty clever, so, no, I didn't think them up. I was just the overseer of that particular project.
So I stood at the Make-Your-Own-Sailboat table and waited for the first bunch of youngest kids to show up. Grown-up volunteers at the other tables did the same, ready to help kids make pipe cleaner bracelets, magazine picture collages, construction paper kites, and decorated pop bottle rockets.
Things were relatively quiet. Some of us kept rearranging the stickers and yarn and scissors and glue and glitter and markers on our tables, preferring some kind of activity to just standing there.
Then the clowns showed up. Four of them. Their faces were painted in typical clown fashion. Their bizarre clothing, gigantic shoes, and outlandish wigs screamed out their profession. But what was strange about them was they acted like normal adults, talking casually while they set up their area, a circle of chairs near the tables. They pulled out bags full of skinny balloons, set up small air compressors, and commented quietly about each others' makeup and clothing. If I'd closed my eyes, I wouldn't have noticed anything odd about them at all.
They were just grown ups in bizarre outfits. Watching them interact was weird.
Then the kids showed up. In an instant, the clowns became animated, comical, balloon-tying, pranksters. And the kids loved them. Face it. No kid is going to want to color a little triangle of paper and glue some stickers on it when there's a big guy with a red round nose and orange curly hair making balloon animals.
Kids flocked to the clowns like moths to a flame, and they were not disappointed. The clowns were busier than one-armed paper hangers as they twisted out balloon animals and crowns and swords and flower bouquets. Perpetually active, they painted kids' faces, laughed and teased with them, and played jokes on each other just to amuse. It was like one huge ball of motion to see them in action.
Eventually that first group of kids left, and the carnival area was emptied of its small customers. We table overlords restored some level of order to our "stuff" before the next group arrived. The clowns went back to being grownups in weird outfits. As the afternoon wore on, they flipped back and forth between being lively, energetic clowns to sedate adults in weird clothes. The defining catalyst was the arrival of kids.
That's not really ground-breaking news. Any adult who's worked with children knows it doesn't take a curly wig or gigantic shoes to become a clown at the hands of children. They have a contagious way of helping us release our inhibitions and throw decorum to the wind. Sometimes they unintentionally help us reveal ourselves far more than we would on our own. Most of the time they just teach us how to relax and enjoy life a little more, if we're wise enough to learn. And thank goodness for that.
By the end of the day, most of us table tenders were envious of the clowns. Not necessarily ready to wear a sponge nose... but ready to believe that grown ups who genuinely enjoy being with kids are those who know how to clown around with them.
You may contact D. Louise Brown at maven_55@yahoo.com or leave a message with her editor at 801-625-4223.
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