It's one more Thanksgiving and again I visit my little friends at Family House.
Family House, a place where families live while their children are getting chemo at UC Med Center in San Francisco.
This one day captures my whole life, compressed.
I get nervous for this show. They've all seen me...they have other entertainers all year...They have the band Train come in all the time, why should they want to see me?...I'm not getting paid...I would rather just watch TV tonight...
And the walk.
Because it's so close I walk. Through my busy neighborhood. By people eating sushi and Thai food. People going to the specialty shops getting fresh produce.
And here comes the clown, walking down the street. Very few make eye contact. Man I have an odd profession. I don't think my job is odd. I just do what I do. I don't understand why people don't run up and hug me, I'm a clown. I walk with a big smile on my face and they stare forward and walk.
I arrive at Family House, they aren't ready, they never are. It's Thanksgiving, all the families are eating in another room.
And then I get the kids. And the kids laugh, and the people laugh, And the volunteers and staff laugh and laugh. They laugh with their gut. That's what a clown can do, get people to laugh from their gut.
There are the bald children there. There are the babies, too young to respond.
And me. sweating, working so hard to make people laugh.
And I succeed. I always do. I never think I will but I always do.
And people hug me and the kids want just one more balloon. And people thank and thank me.
This time they forced bottle after bottle of wine on me. Bottles of leftover wine.
I have Thanksgiving at my house too, so what the heck.
I have a bounce in my step. I get home in five minutes.
And wash up.
I'm exhausted and pleased with myself. I won. I made them laugh.
Sweet relief.
And that's my life. Nerves and release...nerves and release...nerves release.
In my little little little world. I am rich and famous. I'm seen the way I want to be seen, funny, silly and talented. It's a tiny world.
I like my tiny world.
Family House, a place where families live while their children are getting chemo at UC Med Center in San Francisco.
This one day captures my whole life, compressed.
I get nervous for this show. They've all seen me...they have other entertainers all year...They have the band Train come in all the time, why should they want to see me?...I'm not getting paid...I would rather just watch TV tonight...
And the walk.
Because it's so close I walk. Through my busy neighborhood. By people eating sushi and Thai food. People going to the specialty shops getting fresh produce.
And here comes the clown, walking down the street. Very few make eye contact. Man I have an odd profession. I don't think my job is odd. I just do what I do. I don't understand why people don't run up and hug me, I'm a clown. I walk with a big smile on my face and they stare forward and walk.
I arrive at Family House, they aren't ready, they never are. It's Thanksgiving, all the families are eating in another room.
And then I get the kids. And the kids laugh, and the people laugh, And the volunteers and staff laugh and laugh. They laugh with their gut. That's what a clown can do, get people to laugh from their gut.
There are the bald children there. There are the babies, too young to respond.
And me. sweating, working so hard to make people laugh.
And I succeed. I always do. I never think I will but I always do.
And people hug me and the kids want just one more balloon. And people thank and thank me.
This time they forced bottle after bottle of wine on me. Bottles of leftover wine.
I have Thanksgiving at my house too, so what the heck.
I have a bounce in my step. I get home in five minutes.
And wash up.
I'm exhausted and pleased with myself. I won. I made them laugh.
Sweet relief.
And that's my life. Nerves and release...nerves and release...nerves release.
In my little little little world. I am rich and famous. I'm seen the way I want to be seen, funny, silly and talented. It's a tiny world.
I like my tiny world.
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