In the third grade, I decided I wanted to be a clown for Halloween. My mother is going to haunt me for telling you this story but, if ever there was a time for that to happen — it’s at least seasonally appropriate.
Anyhoo, I wanted to be a clown. My mom found a pattern to make the costume and we went to the store to pick out the fabric. I went with a red and white color scheme and two mismatched fabrics for the design — red polka dots on a white background on one side, white hearts on a red background on the other.
With all the elements in place, my mom got to work sewing the costume for me. This may not seem like that big of a deal but here’s the thing: my mom did not sew. Not really, not like that. She would fix buttons from time to time or hem pants if she had to, but she would not have described herself as any kind of seamstress. So, the idea that she would make this costume for me, just the way I wanted it, said a lot about her.
The costume turned out great — a real harlequin motif with red pom-poms down the front and ruffles at the wrists and ankles. I loved it and I was so excited to wear it. The opportunity came at a Halloween party one Saturday afternoon.
We had bought grease paint to do the makeup and even found a picture of a real clown to get it just right; a white face to start, then outlines of the eyes and a big red smile that stretched all the way across my round face. It was all applied very carefully then set with powder to help it stay.
I don’t recall the exact details of what happened next but I do remember there being conversation about wearing a wig or a hat, maybe some special shoes and I was beside myself at the idea.
“No!” I protested. “I’m not doing that.”
I was upset and I decided to stay that way. Looking back it may have had something to do with still being the new kid at school and maybe being a little anxious about that party. Who knows? I recall vividly, though, huffily announcing to my parents, “I don’t want to look stupid!”
With tension still hanging in the air, it was time to go the party. My parents wanted to get a picture of me in my costume. I wanted nothing to do with it, but I relented and stood in the side yard and posed for the photograph.
Look at this picture now and staring back at you is a mean-looking child, her short blonde hair parted down the middle and feathered on the sides. Her shoulders are slumped and her hands seem to vibrate at her sides in tense little fists.
The outfit she’s wearing is incredible, bright red and white, a stark contrast to the grey and turquoise Nike sneakers on her feet.
And what of the makeup? It seems expertly applied and yet it cannot conceal the tight and vicious scowl on her face.
It almost seems as if you are looking at a piece of police evidence: a case of a clown robbed of half her costume.
This picture became the stuff of legend and relentless teasing by my family. Once we rediscovered the photo as adults, we forever referred to the glowering child in the picture as “Pissed Off Clown.”
When I tell you we would howl. And when I tell you my mother would howl back in mock outrage, “GIRLS! LANGUAGE!” Then, she would add, “And that was a great costume!” We would all laugh so hard we barely made any noise. I would also apologize to my mother — again.
It was a great costume. It even accommodated a winter coat! And the little ingrate who wore it learned some powerful lessons that Halloween.
1. If you’re going to do something, do it all the way. Don’t worry about looking stupid. Lean in and have fun! Anything less and you’ll end up looking and feeling foolish beyond your wildest imagination.
2. Let people help you. They’re not trying to embarrass you.
3. Most of all, like Little Orphan Annie said: “you’re never fully dressed without a smile.”
This essay has been slightly edited from the original which appeared in my column in the Thursday, October 31, 2024 edition of The Perry Herald in Perry, NY. Funny enough, we don’t actually know the current whereabouts of the photograph and suspect perhaps my mother hid it so we would stop saying the words “pissed off.” For now, it’s a Halloween mystery. When we find it, I’ll be sure to haunt your dreams and nightmares with it.
I was more of an old school clown, a jester, in the 3rd grade! How funny!
Great story!!!! I pictured all in my head!!! 😊😊😊😊