Clown a Round
An Essay by Stephen Geez
www.StephenGeez.com
Art by Dizzy
I got to be the clown.
I’m talking about dressing up for Halloween, one of the all-time great holidays.
Way back in the mid-20th century, Halloween in the ’burbs offered a chance for us kids to party, to trick-or-treat, to collect vast quantities of sweets so we might gorge ourselves into pure sugar-mania. It was a time for end-of-summer fairs, haunted houses, spooky hayrides, and nifty decorations in orange and black, all manner of skeletons and ghouls and spiders and bats. It also afforded a way-cool chance to show off, act mysterious, frighten or amuse, or simply play the fool. I’m talking about the costumes, dressing up, masks or face paint, hair and hats, outfits ranging from conservatively tame to outrageously wild.
For me, my favorite was the year I got to be the clown.
Sixth grade, eleven years old, my last chance to participate in the elementary school’s autumn festival, I looked forward to the big Halloween event. This was back before such observances grew somewhat restrictive, if not entirely politically incorrect. We transformed the entire public school into a celebratory bazaar, a huge walk-through chamber of horrors, with various rooms devoted to games and entertainment, displays and interactions, and of course the service of food and more food and lots and lots of food. As chairman of the student council, I was charged with greeting arrivals and directing the masses, a roving help-desk to assist and set the tone.
Expected to provide my own costume, I agonized for weeks until Mom found the perfect pattern in a bin at Kmart. After many hours of her painstaking construction, the sewing machine humming, bric-a-brac flying every which way—the kind of mommish effort for which I’m still grateful to this day—followed by several shopping trips for accessories and make-up, I became what I considered to be one bodacious cool-ified clown.
Kids had a lot of costumely choices back then, though it seems they have even more now. Many youngsters gravitate toward the currently popular characters, a chance to prove they’re in sync with the latest rhythms of pop-culture. Others simply choose their personal favorites, often from a movie or TV show, or maybe (though not so much anymore, Potter notwithstanding) an especially liked book. A few opt for some guise of empowerment, the superhero, wielder of magical powers, conqueror of all fears. Some seize the opportunity to look handsome, or pretty, and to display the myriad trappings comely appearance is perceived to earn. Most want to evoke responses, to unnerve, strike fear, coax irony, or even assert their allegiances through symbols of patriotism, membership, or fandom. For all, though, it’s a chance to don the mantle of fantasy, to become something or someone else, if only for a night.
Clowns always struck me as a rather fascinating breed. My earliest memories from TV and trips to the circus are of silly, happy souls. Those who hosted kiddie shows, the ones trying way too hard to be your friend, always proved quick with a laugh, never stingy with the reassuring smiles. But then I noticed that clowns can be sad. What a contradiction, the garish make-up, crazy hair, floppy shoes, and outlandish outfit; but with the smile turned to frown, eyes sorrowful, maybe a teardrop painted where freckles ought to dance.
Surely, then, the clown must have a heart, and when we discover that, the illusion becomes most real. But wait—every child eventually understands that a clown could have simply washed off that make-up, hung up the goofy suit, doffed the fluorescent mane, and stowed the seltzer bottle; so why choose to wear the grease paint even to show he’s sad? It’s a powerful contradiction, an emotional misdirection, as if to prove that not every second can be happy, so therefore it must be the aggregate of all our feelings that indelibly show who we are. Truth demands to see it all.
I’ve noticed, too, that it’s the sad clown who is least likely to speak, yet somehow finds a way to say the most. It seems most people are quick to share their joys, but reluctant to reveal their pains. That would be an act of trust, one that can’t help but speak even without words.
I’ve known people to display the images of clowns in their homes, often as matched sets, one happy, one sad, a colorfully whimsical update of those thespian masks. I want to say, I hear you. I know exactly what you mean. You can’t know one until you’ve had a chance to meet the other.
The addition of clowns is but one example of how the costumely October holiday has evolved. Rooted in Old World superstitions, myths, and rituals, American Halloween by the mid-20th century had shed its original spiritual pretentions. Unfortunately, some people don’t understand that, thinking instead that it’s treated even now by casual revelers as some kind of truly supernatural event. They decry the newer secular observances, believing the whole shebang should be shunned—if not outright banned—or at least transformed into strictly interpreted liturgical rites.
I’m happy to report that no one person or group owns our holidays. A bit of research, even a few hours watching The History Channel, reveals how today’s popular observances grew largely out of efforts by history’s reigning clergy to co-opt longstanding pagan or secular rituals, a way to impose the era’s dominant dogma onto deeply rooted traditions. Me, I think it’s possible to hunt “Oestre” eggs or enjoy the faces of excited youngsters perched on Santa’s lap without diminishing anybody’s own personal devotions. I’ve never known some little boy dressed as Darth Vader, or any young girl outfitted like Hannah Montana, to consider such fun to be declarations of commitment to serving the dark side.
Still, the holiday I remember from childhood keeps changing with the times. Greater emphasis on safety has led to an increase in organized, supervised events in lieu of knocking on the doors of strangers. Public schools are further removed from the fun, and though I agree that government institutions should avoid any involvement in religious ceremonies, I still think it’s possible for a Christmas party to celebrate “Peace on Earth and Goodwill Toward Men” with festive decorations and gift exchanges while leaving any sacred aspects for families and congregations.
Two things about Halloween haven’t changed, though: the vigilance required to protect confectionary largess from marauding raiders of the parental or older-sibling sort, and that way-cool part about being the one who gets to choose what he wears, a chance to be anybody or anything one desires.
Costumes come in boxes or off the rack. Many are made by older loved ones, or fashioned by earnest small hands. They’re modernized, modified, customized, satirized—even outrageous-ized. Whether you obtain the one you like or craft your own notions into a fully realized visual statement, you put it on and discover how it ignites the imagination. That, my friends, is one of the great things about life.
Dressing up reminds us we should never forget to seek out opportunities for fun, even when—especially when—times are bad. Many things about my world have proven painful, and harsh tragedies have touched the spheres of those I care for most. Too often our faces can’t help but reveal the sadness. But every heartache seems balanced by triumph, those rare, serendipitous moments of joy. It’s a beautiful world, and even loss means surely we must have loved, which leaves memories that eventually ought to chase away the frowns.
I look at the sad clown, and I think he knows all this, and he’s saying it’s okay to feel the hurts, to show others how hard it can sometimes be.
And I watch the happy clown and wonder, Doesn’t he know that living even the best life can—and sometimes will—prove near-overwhelmingly hard? Maybe he does know, and he’s decided to walk ahead, to face the worst, then look back toward us and offer his most reassuring smile.
Then blast us one more time with that seltzer bottle, just to keep it real.
Yes, some clowns can touch your soul. Others will make you laugh. I think the best ones find a way to do both.
So what will you be for Halloween?
Me, I like to be the clown.
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© The Fresh Ink Group, LLC, 2007
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