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January 16, 2014

Growing Up Clown by Brandon Ambrosino

I became set on becoming a clown in early childhood.

Although my mom wanted to be a circus clown, her early marriage to my father, and my birth one year later,
limited her clowning to children’s events and church functions. She might not have been a clown for Barnum, but she was certainly a clown for Jesus, committed to laughing her sinful audiences out of their damning stupor. At seven years old, I decided to follow her lead, although, at the time, it didn’t feel like much of a choice. Laughter cackled through my body the way I imagine Liberon wax slinks through the veins of a second-generation antiques dealer. So, following in the footsteps of my mom’s oversized clown shoes, I started attending clown ministry practice on Tuesday nights where, for one hour a week, I learned how best to use mime and slapstick to save someone’s soul from an eternity of damnation. - - Narratively: Human stories, boldly told.

Posted by gerardvanderleun at January 16, 2014 10:55 PM. This is an entry on the sideblog of American Digest: Check it out.

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