Confidence of a Clown

 Confidence of a Clown, by Ricki T Thues

 

I'm seven years old in second grade. I show up to class a week into the semester. There are three books under my arm which I put under my desk. I sit down. Miss Bagley is at her desk and stands up. She says, “OK class, is everyone ready to present the speech that you've prepared?

 

My jaw drops all the way to the floor. I think, “What speech? I don't even remember the assignment. I'm not prepared to speak. 

 

I look around myself and see the books that are under my desk. I notice that there are little differences in the books. I raise my hand to go first. I just want to get this nightmare over.

 

Miss Bagley says, “Okay Ricki, you start.”

 

I pick up the three books and I put them on my desk. Lifting the first book to show the class I say, “Books are put together all kinds of ways. All the pages of this one are glued.” I put it down and I pick up the next book. I say, “Some books are stapled like this one. It has staples that hold the papers on.” I put that one down. Glancing cautiously around I see the class is paying attention. With new confidence I pick up the third, spiral bound book and say, “Some books have these squiggly little things that circle around the edge.” I sit down.

 

The teacher says, “That was very good Ricki. Who is next?” I am sure she let me off easy with this brief speech since I volunteered to go first. I had the sense that if I didn't speak right away I was going to fail. The teacher’s compliment gives me a false sense of competency. The truth is I was just lucky in my first attempt at improvisation.

 

The next year in third grade I have a similar confidence. My parents have taught me how to write in script and that is the main topic of class today. I am already ahead of the rest of the class in reading, plus Miss Bondilee is the most boring teacher. Nobody likes her. She is pedantic and I am bored most of the time.

 

I turn to the girl next to me and stereotypically pull her pigtail. She screeches and the teacher busts me. “Stop that, Ricki. Don’t ever do that again.” Of course, a day or two later I do it again. I am fully into the class clown character.

 

The teacher has had enough of me. She turns a desk in the back of the class to face out the window. She sits me in the desk and says, “Look out the window until you decide to rejoin the class.” I think well, okay, great. There are cars going by and I just entertain myself for the next three months.

 

Miss Bondilee calls my mother and me into the principal's office.

“Ricki is not going to advance to the fourth grade,” the teacher says. ”He has done none of the work for the last three months.”

”How could that have happened?” asks my mother.

Miss Bondilee explains that I was isolated from the class and chose not to rejoin it. “Being a class clown seemed more important to him than doing the work.”

 

My mother looks over at the sheepish principal, then back at my teacher.

“You are going to give Ricki all the assignments that he has missed. I will monitor him to be sure that all the work is done. I assure you that I will not help him. He will learn the material.” Turning to the principal she adds, “If he completes the assignments will he advance to the fourth grade?” The principal glares at my teacher and nods to my mother.

 

I do complete all the work and hand it in with a week to spare. It was the most difficult thing I have ever done. My mother was relentless. I advance to the four grade with a confidence that I stole from my mother.

 

In fourth and fifth grade I discover the library. I read voraciously and become a very good student.

 

I find myself in the sixth grade in a class where the teacher is annoyingly dull. Mr. Wright has this nasty habit of twisting the ears of students who are acting up. It is his way of getting their attention. He is droning on and on about something that I already know. In fact, I have already read the book he is discussing. So, I turn around and I am twisting my ear at my buddy in the desk behind me, making fun of the teacher. My friend is giggling and then, suddenly the kids behind him start giggling. I am still twisting my ear when I feel my other ear getting twisted. I look up in horror to see my teacher with his fingers on my ear. It hurts.

 

Mr. Wright looks me straight in the eyes and says, “Rick, they're not laughing with you. They are laughing at you.”

 

That comment strikes me hard. I realized that being the class clown is not worth the reward. I will never play that role again.