On Being a Clown
6 min readNov 5, 2019
CLOWNS, LIKE ME, ARE ATTENTION hogs. Something was missing early on. Maybe my mother left me on the soft, nurturing shoulder of Highway 401, outside Pickering Nuclear Power Station, and I took it personally. Or maybe instead of her nipple — and I get an ugh-y shudder of Oedipal horror as I type the word — or the sexless, 1950’s Frankenstein substitute, pacifier and bottle, she offered me a drag on her Craven “A” King Size.
