I was talking with some friends the
other evening. The discussion turned to a debate over which is
scarier: snakes or spiders. I am not thrilled with either but given
the option I would say small spiders are okay...as long as I can
squish them with my shoe. Jumping spiders are OUT. Snakes, are not
that bad as long as I don't have to remove them from my toilet,
kitchen or car. It is nearly impossible to squish a snake with a size
nine shoe. However, we all decided that there is one thing even
scarier than spiders or snakes. Please keep in mind, there was a
member of law enforcement, a fire fighter, a former ER nurse and a
mother of two teenage boys. We are not easily scared.
Except by clowns.
So, as it is officially summer and
summer is the time of reruns and parades in which Clowns are a staple, I present to you...
CLOWNS!!!
 |
| See the woods behind the post? That is where they will find your body... |
Could someone tell me – just when did
clowns become scary? You mention 'clowns' to any adult I know and
they turn pale, wring their hands and change the subject faster than
a Congressman at a press conference.
I use to love clowns. The clowns I knew
growing up were the happy, non-threatening variety. Red Skelton's
Clem Kadiddlehopper, Captain Kangaroo's Town Clown and the
grandfather clown of them all – Emmett Kelley. These clowns were
loveable bums just trying to get by. They stumbled through my
favorite television broadcasts trying to solve problems in their
bumbling mute manor. I could relate to their clumsiness in the way
that only a middle schooler who tripped over the vault horse could. I
just wanted to give them a big hug.
And I guess, this is where the notion
of scary began to evolve. As an adult I wonder, why would anyone in
their right mind want to hug a grown man wearing all that makeup and
baggy clothes? There is no doubt that these clowns smelled – most
likely of 40 ounce malt liquor. It is now obvious that all three were
probably members of some hobo-fueled street gang whose weapon of
choice was disarming charm. Their gang sign was the pantomime for a
train whistle and they most likely had tattoos of the various balloon
animals they created.
I look at the clowns that my children
watched growing up: Ronald McDonald and Bozo. One is trying to kill
everyone with 'happy' meals full of artery clogging fat. Never mind
that his organization provides housing for sick kids and their
families. You scrape away all that goodie-two shoes stuff and you
have a modern day Hansel and Gretel Witch luring children to his
french fry play place.
And then there is Bozo. It was while
watching Bozo's Circus that I began to notice the subtext, behind the
makeup, the poorly masked disdain for all those screaming kids. He
would call strange children down from the audience and on local cable
television ask them to play with his balls in exchange for 'a
surprise'. Really?
Driving home from work a while back I
noticed a sign stapled to a telephone pole. In dripping blood red
text it advertised Clowns...and more!! WHAT! From the
shaky penmanship the sign looked to be the work of some demented
mental patient who recently absconded from his cushy padded cell. I
have no doubt that the poor mom who answered that ad thinking she was
adding a touch of whimsy to her three-year-old's birthday would wind
up buried in the woods beyond the post. Thinking it was just
me, I mentioned the sign to a number of people and the reaction was
the same: shocked speechlessness followed by talk of happy places and
hiding under their beds.
As an adult, the clown, just seems to
be the embodiment of all we teach our children to beware of. Grown
adults masking their true selves behind makeup dressed in
intentionally deceptive big shoes; they are obviously up to no good.
Stephen King used a clown as the consummate image of evil in the book
"It". John Wayne Gacy painted picture upon picture of
clowns...and we all know how well he turned out. Yet we insist on
inviting clowns to birthday parties and allow them to fill the gaps
between floats in parades. They stroll the pavement at fairs with
their squeaky balloon animals and offer 'whiffs' from their squirty
lapel pin flowers. In fact, at a recent event I saw an entire busload
of 'Clowns for Jesus'. I am pretty sure Our Lord would not have the
following He has now if He wandered the roads of Jerusalem in face paint and asked lepers to 'honk my nose' for salvation.
And think about it. The word 'clown' is
never used in a flattering manner. You have 'clown' pants and 'class
clown' . If a woman wears too much make-up she looks like a 'clown'.
Face it- when was the last time you called someone a 'clown' and
meant it in a complimentary manner?
As a child, I had no idea of the scary
crap waiting for me in the big wide world. But now, after years spent
working in hospital emergency departments and surgical venues, years
spent raising children while married to a member of law enforcement,
very few things truly scare me. But I must admit, outside of Sock
Monkeys, clowns are number one.
I have no doubt that those practicing the art of Clowning will take exception to my thoughts.
And that is fine. Just pack yourselves into that tiny little car that
miraculously seats seventy-five and keep on driving. With any luck
you'll do us all a favor and run over a pack of SockMonkeys on your
way back to where ever it is that you keep those giant shoes.
(first posted 03.23.2011 The
Clowns! sign disappeared as mysteriously as it had appeared. I had
nothing to do with it. Really.)
(My apologies to the person
who posted that sign...oh, who am I kidding. Clowns are just plain
scary. If you are crazy enough to post your phone number on a sign
advertising clowns you are asking for trouble.)
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