CLOWNING AROUND

Are any of these kids afraid of clowns?" This question came at an unfortunate moment – just five minutes before our daughter’s first birthday party was about to start. The questioner was a man dressed in a red-spaghetti wig, big shoes, loads of makeup and a bulbous nose. A clown, in short.

Sadly, this question had never occurred to either of us parents in the months leading up to the party. Lost in the million-plus-one details of booking tables, chairs, cotton candy vendors, balloons, birthday cake and invites was the simple parents’ questionnaire: "IS YOUR CHILD DEATHLY AND IRRATIONALLY AFRAID OF CLOWNS? PLEASE LET US KNOW BEFOREHAND, SO WE CAN DISINVITE YOU!!"

Clowns are not evil. They don’t usually stalk people, or rig elections, or run for congress. They’ve just chosen a profession that makes it necessary for them to act and look strange in public. And kids pick up on this.

I don’t know how clowns got a reputation for scariness, but it sure seems to have spread fast. At least two kids were stricken with clown terror at our baby’s party: one, an infant still attached to his mother’s breast, the other a two-year-old who had to be ferried away to a distant part of the house.

The two clowns we hired for our party – sadly, I didn’t have time to ask their civilian names; I’ll have to refer to them as Bozo 1 and Bozo 2 – were professional to the core. But I wish they’d asked us that question earlier.

I also found the clowns’ personal choice of music puzzling. I’m not sure that the music of L’il Kim or 50 Cent is actually appropriate for a one-year-old’s party. But this was what came booming over our sound system as the kiddies filed in.

I quickly learned this much about clowns, though: they’re just like other workers on other jobs. Earlier, at another kid’s party, I was surprised to bump into the guy dressed up as Woody, the Toy Story character, during his break. He was near a shed, furtively puffing a cigarette. He nodded at me, shrugged, and went on puffing.

Entertaining a roomful of kids is just like any other gig, and it takes enormous concentrations of energy. But even the best of clowns break out of character. Early on at our daughter’s party, I noticed Bozo 1 and Bozo 2 were quite animated, so long as they held a few kids’ attention. But when they knew no one was watching? They stopped clowning.

Parents can be forgiven for relinquishing control of their kid’s party after they send in the clowns. Anyone who has had to go through the ordeal of planning a kid’s first birthday party knows you’re pretty much running on fumes when the big day arrives. This is especially true if you get the completely insane notion that you want to hold a theme party. There’s a cultural pressure here which forces parents, at great expense and mental aggravation, to refashion their sala or backyard into an enchanted Little Mermaid seascape, or a toy-populated wonderland from Toy Story. I tried pitching my own pre-existing kiddie theme to my wife – Enchanted Wrought-Iron Grill Land – but she wasn’t buying.

Our theme was Finding Nemo. My wife started the search for "Nemo" goods early on, descending on Christmas bazaars and toy stores, driving herself nearly berserk in a frantic hunt for inflatable table settings and plastic figurines and napkins and hats and giveaway bags, all bearing the corporate "Nemo" logo. These items were collected slowly by us and prized the way Gollum covets his precious ring. Gradually, we acquired enough Finding Nemo loot to hold a respectable children’s party.

Little did we know that one of our toddler guests couldn’t stand Finding Nemo. Just hated it. This review from a two-year-old. So we were assured that at least one child was not going to enjoy the festivities much.

But after a while, you learn to relax at these things. Having been to a few kids’ parties, we knew there was a script involved. There would be games, and then food, and then games again and… well, that was pretty much the whole drill. And we also knew this script actually had an endpoint, somewhere late in the afternoon. So we tried to overlook the jealous kiddie rages which erupted and our fear of kids upchucking punch, and the all-too-real fear of clowns reverberating through the room.

One girl was so traumatized by the clowns that she spent the entire party with her yaya out on the porch. Later, when we said goodbye to her mom, we asked about her daughter. "Oh, she’s out in the car already," we learned. Probably needed a non-stop barrage of Barney music just to calm her down.

Nerves were frayed, kids’ emotions ran high, and two parents walked a fine tightwire all afternoon. But in truth, all went pretty well. We tried to ignore people’s post-party suggestions about what theme we should do next year. As parents, we had acquired the wisdom of delaying the next big party until age seven, the so-called "age of reason." As if kids at any age can be reasoned with.

The funny thing is, we also learned that when you hire clowns to run your birthday party, you’re really in pretty good hands. If they’re even halfway professional, they have a bunch of party games at their disposal; they’re not afraid to tell kids to settle down or when to applaud; they even keep a ready supply of magic tricks up their frilly sleeves. In short, they’re better than most adult party hosts. Plus, they do seem to enjoy their work.

And for the last time, clowns aren’t evil, contrary to the evidence found at most kids’ parties – the childish looks of fright, the frantic tugging at mommy’s arm, the mad dash behind the nearest adult in regulation civilian clothing. No, clowns aren’t evil.

They’re just a little scary.