.8.

DRASSANES

To the clown sitting on the metro platform at Drassanes, applying his stage makeup, using a mirror rested on his portable speaker. As the metro briefly stopped at the station, I poked Alina. Look, I said. There was a father and his two children sitting behind the clown. One of the little boys had climbed up on the stone bench behind the performer and was watching him put on face powder as if he were swallowing swords or juggling snakes. The clown was acutely aware of this, and kept catching the boy’s eye in the mirror. He’d smile, pull a face, reach his hand behind him to playfully shoo him away. The boy would excitedly back off, then slowly inch back forward.

I remember when I was a kid, I was walking down the street and holding my mom’s hand. I must have been about 5 or so. We walked by a nun, who, differently than many other kindly looking old Italian women, smiled at me as I walked by. I was so touched by this gesture at the time that I’ve always kept a warm place in my heart for nuns (you can tell I wasn’t raised catholic).

I wonder if this experience will always stick with this little boy. Ridding the world of its fear of clowns I suppose, one child at a time.