I was always a spoiled kid. My parents were wealthy and decided to spend their money smothering their only son with an incredible childhood. I had it all. My play room was insane, a huge tv, pinball machines, and every toy you could imagine. It was awesome.
Despite having so much, I wasn’t a brat about it. I can say that now, having thoroughly examined my childhood. I loved to share my immense stash of stuff with my friends. I gave toys away, invited them over for pizza and movies, and was all around pretty generous. On paper, I should have been a spoiled snob, but for whatever reason I wasn’t. Good genes I guess.
On my ninth birthday I had a bunch of my friends over. My dad rented a huge moon bounce for us and decorated our backyard with super hero apparel (I was going through a major phase). Tables were set up with punch and snacks, little finger foods to keep us from complaining until dinner. Balloons and banners were tied to every surface, my parent’s way of establishing how loved I was. Music played from giant speakers my dad had set up on the back patio. My friends and I ran around and jammed out while waiting our turn in the moon bounce.
My grandparents arrived a couple hours into the party, bringing with them a “party gift”. My grandmother informed me she had purchased it at a yard sale the weekend prior.
It was a giant, hollow, plastic clown head. It looked like one of those weird cheap toys from the nineties, something that was popular for a week before getting all of its units shelved. Its face was white with red circles lining the painted eyes. A smile was smeared to its lips, a big goofy grin that was also painted red. The nose was a bulbous orb of plastic that sat oddly on its face like a big gumball.
As I turned over this strange gift in my hands, my grandfather handed me a plastic, gold crown. He said it was “part of the game”.
Seeing my confusion, my grandmother laughed and explained what it was. She said I was supposed to wear the clown head while my friends attempted to sneak up and “crown me”. I flipped the head over and saw serrated notches lining the bald dome where the crown went.
I thought it was pretty lame, but didn’t want to be rude. I dutifully slid the plastic clown head over my own, the interior hard against my temples. As it settle over me, I realized I couldn’t see anything. Red light filtered through the plastic, but there was a concerning lack of eye holes.
My grandfather chuckled as he watched me stumble around, hands outstretched so I wouldn’t bump into anything. I asked why there were no eye holes and he told me it’d be too easy for me to win the game. I had to rely on my ears to keep my friends at bay.
He said the game was called Crown the Clown.
I was beginning to understand the rules. It was like some weird version of pin the tail on the donkey, but with a clown and a crown instead.
My friends had gathered around to watch me and soon they were laughing and calling out for me. My grandmother tossed one of them the crown and the game began.
It was surprising fun.
The plastic mask got hot, but I didn’t mind. I was too caught up in keeping my friends away from me and the crown off my head.
After about twenty minutes, no one had managed to get me. I was laughing and stumbling around, doing my best not bump into anything. My friend John was calling out to me and I didn’t know if he had the crown or if he was trying to distract me.
Turns out he was trying to distract me.
I suddenly felt something “click” over my head, followed by a great cheer from my friends. I had finally been crowned.
Smiling despite my defeat, I went to take the big plastic head off me, but found that I couldn’t. The neck hole was suddenly smaller, curling tight under my chin and biting into my skin. I tried tugging harder, trying not to panic, the air thick inside the head. What the hell?
