As Halloween approaches, one can't help but be bombarded by all things spooky. I find myself drawn in to this holiday for many reasons, regardless, there is one scary costume that triggers a memory that I just can't quite shake. When I was six years old, a clown tried to kidnap my best friend and I. To this day, 34 years later, the sight of a clown mask or costume makes my heart race and a sense of panic sets in.
It was 1979 and we lived in Olathe, Kansas. We lived in a shotgun house on Pine Street, just a few blocks from school. My best friend was Kerry King. We went to school together and lived just a few houses apart. Several weeks before the attempt, the local police had come to our school and warned all of us about a bad man in the area. This was long before Amber Alerts and 'stranger danger'. But the police were trying to get this guy. They knew he was luring kids into his vehicle and molesting them before releasing them. The kids were left with nothing but a description of a clown, no real identifying features. But they did have a fairly consistent description of the vehicle and came to warn us to not get into any vehicles with anyone we didn't know, no matter how fun they seemed or what fun they may promise.
One day as Kerry and I were walking home from school, a van turned the corner onto our street. The van pulled up along side of us and as I looked up I realized it was a clown driving a van, just like the police had warned. Kerry and I were both frozen in fear as he rolled down his window and began to speak to us.
I don't know what he said. I can't remember.
I just know we ran. Kerry and I held hands and ran down the street screaming our heads off like banshees.
The block between where he pulled up and my house may as well have been length of the great wall of China. Hearts pounding, adrenaline pumping, tears in our eyes, we ran to my mother. We told her the clown was just down the block and I was afraid he was still behind us.
My mother, in all her infinite wisdom, did nothing.
Didn't call the police.
Didn't soothe my fears.
Didn't, in fact, even believe me.
I'm older now and know more about my family history. Ignoring childhood trauma is a specialty in my family. Sweeping it under the rug is a staggering understatement. But that's another essay for another day!
So coulrophobia is the fear of clowns. Today as I was debating between Halloween candy options, I turned around in the aisle and was face to face with a clown mask. My heart stuttered for a moment. I got angry for a moment. Then I swept it under the rug and bought something chocolate.
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