These shoes were made for laughing

My Dad was very nearly buried in his clown shoes.  Well, his whole outfit top to bottom honestly.  I'm kind of glad he decided against it, if only so that we get to see and touch his old clown things, his wig, his hat, his shoes.  I remember discussing the matter with him as he lay, the second bout with stomach cancer escorting him home to Jesus sooner than we would like.  He had a nice grey suit that he had worn to his Father's funeral, so he figured he might as well wear it to his own and get some good use out of it.  Plus, he said he came from a generation that kind of expected, you know, more gravity at a funeral.  (hehehe) I imagine that no one who knew my Dad would have been surprised had he actually worn his clown outfit in that casket.  But you know, the clown shoes never truly come off.  Before he went, I asked if we could do the hokey-pokey around his grave.  "I hope you do." was his exact answer.

I remember buying my clown shoes, the first pair that were actually mine and not just communal gigantic converse that anyone in the family could wear for a gig.  Every so often we'd head to Big 5 and see what was on sale, you know usually the really big pairs which was great for us.  And there they were, purple size thirteens.  I don't recall if I tried them on in the store or not, but I do recall putting my kid-sized sneakers inside them and wearing them that way for a couple years.  Then when my shoes would no longer fit inside, I just wore them on my feet which was nice since smart ass kids who were so inclined could no longer point out that my regular shoes were just just shoved inside.  Haters at clown parties are such a drag.

I haven't clowned professionally in over a decade, and in all those years I never stopped to consider how those giant purple sneakers have influenced my shoe choices ever since my clown days, until last night.  I was asked to bring my old clown shoes to my Mothers Of Preschoolers meeting just for fun, and as I was leaving the house and went to put my current shoes on, I noticed how they had an eerily similar silhouette, and were very nearly the same color purple, only of course my current shoes actually fit.  And come to think, I've had a pair of purple sneakers in-between that I had been given grief for for being out of style.  But I didn't care.  They had pockets on the sides, and were awesome.  But realizing last night that my current shoes just about match my old clown shoes explains so much...

Makeup, hair, clothes, all influenced by my long and early work as a professional clown.  Dad taught me how to do my make up before a gig.  I could go from human face to clown face in 20 minutes flat.  Nowadays I only give myself 5 minutes for make up when I'm on stage on a Sunday, because shoot, I'm not even doing white face!  It's not like my Mom didn't wear regular make up, she does.  I just don't remember really playing with it.  Maybe make up was too sacred.  And my Dad's sense of style was pretty crazy, even when he wasn't getting paid.  Like the time he showed up for my high school senior concert in the pink polo shirt from my Aunt that my Mom wouldn't even wear.  But then, I harass my Mom for dressing like a frumpy teacher, while I wear the same t-shirts and jeans like a uniform, so really we're all lost in the fashion world.  It's not like Mom and I don't try to look presentable, we get our hair done, we look at what the mannequins wear, but I swear it's to little avail.   We don't wear wigs or anything, but as a clown I gave up wearing wigs for hats, and that trend has certainly continued.  I have occasionally been accused of having my own "style", but it's ok, I know the truth.  The clown shoes never came off.

Tell you what 'though, it's kind of like being a court jester.  I get to say an awful lot of what I think, what a lot of other people would like to say but don't for one reason or another.  Being a clown has many advantages.  And making people laugh has always been a great hobby of mine, long before I ever got paid to do it, and long since.  And with all this food allergy/migraine mess, you can cry or laugh and don't you know I do both.  I call it balance.  It may be the only balance in my life, but at least I can both laugh AND cry about it!  And if laughter is truly the best medicine, maybe last night was a good time to notice that the clown shoes are still on.  "No foolish, no fun." said my Great-Grandfather to my Great-Grandmother.
#dorkrunsdeep