Pass the Face
“Make sure her head is held up. Slowly, one step at a time. Careeeefffuuulll” my Mom smiled with gritted teeth as she coached me down the steep staircase.
“Sami, your elbow needs to remain strong to support her head.”
My new baby sister Sarah had just come home from the hospital. I had spent the morning waiting for her to grow up and play with me. Impatient that she was sleeping, I placed my newborn sister on a pillow and carried her down the stairs. My mother heard me approaching and guided me with the calm demeanor of a bomb expert. I confidently delivered my new friend to her open arms.
I am sure that if I had the same experience, I would have screamed or at least appeared VERY anxious. I had used my mom’s make-up to paint myself into clown-face, advertising my craving for attention. I assume that my mom was tired herself, and was less than enthused to be confronted with a possible dangerous accident. She maintained eye contact and we played a successful game of “Pass the Face.”
“Pass the Face,” is an improv game where you mirror the other person’s emotions. If they are excited about Halloween, you have to squash your fear and get on board to LOVE the holiday. You have no warning as to what their emotion will be, you simply have to catch whatever is thrown at you and copy it.
I play this game on a daily basis without warning. I walk in from work and faced with a complaining member of my family, I start to bitch and moan. If I am around unhappy people, I mirror their grumpiness. I try to fight it with a game of “Flip the Face,” but quickly my positive attitude and face falls.
It is ironic that I painted myself in the one face I am afraid of clowns. Whenever there is a frightening clown on the screen, I run out of the room. For years, my family has been encouraging me to face my fear. Ever since I watched the horrific mime episode on Little House on the Prairie, I have been deeply afraid of clowns. Clowns appear to be entertaining, yet a terrifying villain lurks underneath those creepy painted faces. My sons constantly ask me to watch clown-based horror movies with them, hoping it will be the cure. My sister even went as far as finding a workout class where I would be chased by actual clowns, which I refused.
Last week my son Mason asked me to watch the horror movie “It” with him. If you have teenagers, you know this rare gift I was given. The invitation would be revoked if I suggested a different option. The crazy clown was scary, but not only did I survive, I felt a huge relief once the credits rolled. The proud look on Mason’s face when we finished was a reward in itself. I texted Tyler at college to share my accomplishment.
“I wish I could have seen your face!” he replied. Proudly conquering another fear, I happily passed along a screen-shot of my face.
