Dressed Like a Clown

I was excited.  It was my first year at the summer playground and they were having a costume contest.  The first place prize was a blue ribbon, certificate and a large bag of candy.  I wanted to win that prize and I knew I could.  You see, a few days leading up to the contest I overheard the other kids talking about what costume they were going to wear.  And none of them were going to dress up like Batman.  I knew I had this in the bag.  

I had mentioned my costume choice to my mother when I heard about the contest.  I had seen it in the Sears and Roebuck catalog, circled it, and gave it to her nearly three weeks prior to event.  I knew it had to arrive in the mail this very day, so, before the afternoon had ticked completely away, I said goodbye to my friends at Oak Knoll park and headed home.  My family didn’t live in the greatest area of town.  In fact, our house was situated next door to a bar.  But while it was a low income neighborhood, we all knew each other, and no one bothered me.  Everyone knew me, my two brothers and all of my sisters.  And of course they knew my mother, a single parent who cleaned homes and washed dishes at a diner to feed of us.  

When I arrived home, I jumped up the steps,  and ran into the house.  My mother was upstairs getting ready to go to work, so I headed straight away to her room. “Mama,” I called out, jumping her bed, “Did my package come today?”

She gave me a puzzled look and asked, “What package?”

Of course I knew at that moment that she hadn’t ordered it, but out of respect, I answered, “My costume from Sears and Roebuck.  The one that I circled and gave to you.” I was just moments away from tears, but I marshaled on.  

“Honey,” she said, and came over to me and gave me a hug, “we can’t afford anything from the catalog.  I thought maybe I could find some things around here to make you a costume.”

I was disappointed, but my mother worked hard.  She did the very best she could.  It was difficult for her to raise so many children by herself.  And through her efforts, we didn’t go hungry, without clothing or shoes.  So, though sad, I sucked it up and agreed because I trusted her.  

The next morning – Saturday –  I jumped up from bed.  I had no idea what kind of idea my mother had come up with.  It didn’t matter to me. I hurried downstairs and found her in the kitchen.  “I thought I would go into work a little late today,” she said.   “I wanted to help you get ready for your contest.”

“What am I going as?” I asked and before the last word came out of my mouth she said, “A clown.” 

She did her very best that morning, dressing me in oversized overalls meant for my oldest brother. She had found some men’s shoes – I had no idea where they came from – and stuffed the toes with paper so that they would fit, aptly accentuating my clownish look.   And she used makeup and lipstick to fix my face.  And when she was finished, indeed, I looked like a clown.   I have to admit, initially, I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of dressing like one, but I felt blessed, because at the very least, I had a costume.  And since none of my friend knew what I was going to dress as, I wouldn’t be shamed by them.   

It was still early morning when I headed out the door to the park.  And probably while not the case, it seemed that everyone in the neighborhood was out that day, enjoying the warm summer morning on their porches.  And they all had their laugh as I walked passed their homes dressed like I had just left the circus.  I took a lot of teasing that day from the good folk of the neighborhood.  They laughed and called me “Bozo” and all sorts of names.  I nearly cried as I made it through the gauntlet of ridicule.   But I persevered and found my way to the park. 

And when I returned, on the way back home, they did the same.  Every embarrassing and demeaning name associated with a clown – they called me. But it didn’t matter to me.  My mother had dressed me like a clown and because of that,  I  brought home the blue ribbon.  And a big bag of candy.  

To that point in my life, I had not won anything.  I was always the smallest, slowest, and weakest.  On that day, though, I triumphed.  They even took a photo of all the winners and later during the week, it was published in the newspaper.  I was on top of the world.  And it was all because of my mother.  I tried to stay up and wait for her to get off work that night.  She worked long hours and didn’t walk through the door until after midnight.  When she stepped in the house, I was sprawled out on the settee, fast asleep.  

She woke me up and whispered, “Come to bed, my little star,” and gave me a hug.  She gently removed the blue ribbon from my hand and said, “We’ll have to find somewhere special to hang this so everyone can see it.”

I went on to win quite a few things in my life.  But none have been more special than my first win, a blue ribbon and a bag of candy.  And while my mother said she was proud of me, I really didn’t do anything but show up.  Her efforts gave me my first win in life.  And today, when I think of that small win, I can’t help but smile. Because minor as it was, it made a huge difference in my life.  But more importantly, it  wouldn’t have been possible without the amazing woman who raised me.