When I was growing up, all of the men on my dad's side of the family were Shriners. During first grade, my dad had the important task of overseeing the planning for the Shrine Circus. Since he was the grand poobah of carnies that year, I naturally used my VIP role (Very Important Princess in my dad's world) to secure a spot as a clown in the circus. Isn't that every 6-year-old's dream?!
In my job as the youngest performer that year, I got to do, among other things, ride a baby elephant, pet a baby tiger, and witness the laborers clean out the stalls where the animals were kept (thus encouraging me to pursue my education). But my most important role was to navigate the clown car to its final destination in the center ring of the circus arena. Yes, that's right, a 6-year-old was navigating a car full of clowns because the driver could not see where he was going. We were piled into a hatchback car of some kind (probably a Datsun) and the windows were painted white with the exception of a pinhole-sized clear spot so we could see where to drive.
You may be asking yourself how the 6-year-old got the navigator's job and not someone more well-seasoned in the circus industry. I would love to say it was because I abused my position as the VIP or the other clowns voted and deemed me most responsible, but it was actually pure happenstance. When the Datsun was fully-loaded (with clowns not amenities), I was the only one small enough to fit in the front of the gear shift. The pinhole just happened to be right there, so I got the job by being small man on the totem pole and not for any other reason.
In hindsight, I look back and wonder what the heck I was thinking when I wanted to hang out with a bunch of clowns. As I have gotten older, quite frankly, clowns freak me out. Maybe it was just an age of innocence when I wasn't scared of carnie folk...
Despite my maturity tainting my view of clowns, my age and wisdom haven't completely quieted my carnie spirit. And that's a story for another day.
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