Clownin' Around

As I may have mentioned before, as a lad, I was terrified of clowns (truth be told, to this day I am not really too comfortable around them). Unlike many irrational fears, however, I know the exact source of my phobia. 

When I was about 2 years old, my Mother took us to Woolworth's. I was still in a stroller. There was  some sort of family promotion going on, so there was all sorts of cheesy entertainment like jugglers, fortune tellers, monkeys and of course, clowns. I had never seen a clown before, so when this huge, white faced creature with  a red nose and yellow teeth approached my pram, giggling and twisting balloon animals, I was  terrified. I began shrieking and crying, and the clown, as they always do, tried to make things better by getting in my face to show me how "nice" he was. 

This of course, made things much worse, and we left Woolworth's posthaste. It was too late though, the damage had been done, and every future encounter with clowns resulted in an awkward public spectacle for my entire family.

Naturally, my older sister, age 7,  with her "puckish"  sense of humor, found my aversion to clowns amusing, and she soon found a way to heighten her enjoyment of my phobia. One day, she came bursting into my room and announced, "Billy! Hide! The Mean Clown is coming!" I did not hesitate to question her. All I needed to hear were the words, "Mean", "Clown" and "Coming". I was immediately in panic mode! I had to hide, but where?! "Under the covers!", my sister suggested, and it seemed as good a place as any, so I dove under the sheets, my heart racing.

Under the darkness of the covers I heard a voice growl, "WHERE"S BILLY?!" "He's not here, Mean Clown", my sister responded. "I bet he's under these covers!", I heard the Mean Clown say, and I began to feel a finger poking the covers of my bed.

If it were possible for a 3 year old could have a coronary, I certainly would have at this point.

Eventually, my sister persuaded the Mean Clown that I wasn't there, and he left. I was eternally grateful to my sister for saving me from the Mean Clown.

Of course, my sister actually WAS the Mean Clown, and if  you think I must have been a pretty naive kid to think a seven year old girl was a Mean Clown, you would be correct.

The Mean Clown popped up a few times more, before my sister tired of the game, and came up with a new way to amuse herself, by telling me the "Bus to Disneyland" was coming, and I should pack a bag and go wait for it on the front steps.

But that's a story for another  day.

Elves in the Window, and Other Holiday Memories

At this festive time of year, it's fun to think back on all the memories of Christmases past. Here are just a few of some of the fond thoughts of me and my nearest and dearest:

• One of my most vivid Yuletide memories was from one season when I was about five. My Father told us that Santa sent his elves to peek in our windows to see if we were being good.

If  this was his plan to get us to behave, it backfired in a massive way.  We spent the rest of the Holiday season thinking we would turn around and see some little gnome peering in at us through the window. We would shriek in horror at every bump in the night, and had our shades drawn at all times. Our Mother called it: Worst. Christmas. Ever.

• When I was a bit younger, I appeared in a Christmas show  written, produced, starring and directed by my big sister, performed for our parents. I forget the exact plot, but it concerned the possible cancellation of Christmas. I played "The Little Elf" (this was before I developed my elf aversion). When my sister said the line, "Santa says there is no Christmas", I burst into tears. I thought Christmas really was cancelled. The show sorta fell apart after that. I suppose my sister was unaware that at that young age, I was a method actor.

• Another memorable Christmas Eve, at least for my parents, was the year our babysitter gave each of us an entire box of M&M's, which our parents let us eat just before bedtime. Giving already jacked-up young kids a huge amount of sugar on the most exciting night of the year, then trying to get them to go to bed, is a bad idea. My parents learned this lesson the hard way.

I have many other Christmas memories: The cat climbing the tree and knocking it over, having to go to my relatives on Christmas day instead staying home and playing with my toys, not getting the Billy Blastoff set I wanted, etc. I'll save those for another time.

Don't get me  wrong, I love this Holiday. I wish that all year long people could have this cheer and goodwill in their hearts, and be kind and generous with their fellow man.

Even if their fellow man tries to take their parking space at the mall.