Despite my vow a decade and a half ago, I find myself craving this sort of attention that requires me to dissect myself in front of an audience. Like dancers and models, they are artists who are constantly in the center of attention but they show off some of the most vulnerable, grotesque parts of themselves. All my biggest heroes are comedians: some of the most intelligent people who paint themselves in silly personas and allow absolute strangers to mock them. Who in their right mind would willingly make a profession out of publicly humiliating themselves? Why would anyone smart want to play a fool?įlash forward fifteen years. At that moment, I knew with absolute certainty that this was NOT what I wanted to be when I grew up. Or maybe I knew that they were making light of my failure. The audience roared with laughter as I retreated out of the spotlight, humiliated and unaware that I had successfully done my job as a clown. The plastic lemons clattered onto the floor and I tried desperately to collect them, but the tears in my eyes made it hard to see. During my big moment, I tossed the lemons up into the air and caught not a single one. We performed the play in front of our families in a crowded auditorium that evening. “Just try,” she sighed, obviously fed up with my attitude. “But I don’t even know how to juggle!” I whined. My teacher had given me plastic lemons to juggle as a part of my performance in the skit, despite my adamant protests. I watched jealously as my friend Jess adjusted her ballerina tutu and scowled at Kevin who was looking extra smug in his lab coat. My kindergarten class was putting on a skit entitled “What I Want to Be When I Grow Up” and I had been assigned the part of the clown. The red ball that had been clipped to my nose kept slipping and was constantly in my line of vision. I sulked in the corner of the room in my fluffy, rainbow wig.
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