The front door is locked, and since I have no idea how to get in, I wander into the backyard and try getting in through the sliding door by the pool. Locked. Crap.
I’m about to camp out on one of the sunchairs when the dark, towering tree in the corner of the lot becomes visible, the treehouse in its branches blocking the stars. Crickets chirp, reminding me of our horrible moment on stage.
My heart is so heavy it’s hard to climb the rungs leading to the treehouse, but I manage. I’m surprised when a soft light glows bright upon my entrance. I assume it’s a battery-operated motion light until I spot an electric cord attached to the small fixture. “They would have electricity in this thing,” I mutter.
I follow the cord to an outlet, and see that a second device is plugged in as well. A laptop. I wonder if it has Wi-Fi. It if does, I might just take Janis up on her meanly delivered advice about watching Upside Clown.
I had good reason to not watch the series when it came out. I was trying to un-Dawson my brain. But it seemed as if Dawson, rather than telling me about the series, brushed off the topic whenever it came up. Maybe that’s why I assumed it didn’t have a lot of substance. But perhaps now is as good a time as any to finally see what it’s all about.
It takes only a few easy clicks to pull up the series online. Parked before the soft glow of the screen, I click the final prompt.Play.
Dawson stands in an empty school room, a blackboard at his back, hands tucked into the pockets of a pair of navy slacks.
“We all remember the stereotypes we grew up with. There were the jocks, geeks, rebels, bullies, teachers’ pets, and those whiz kids that left the rest of us in the dark. Each one of these labels carries weight. Labels have the potential to do good or harm to the child who wears the badge.
“But the label we’re going to address in this series is one I haven’t mentioned yet. We’ve all encountered this particular kid, had a good laugh thanks to his snide comments or daring digs. It’s the one that, in a classful of kids, needs to be seen above all else.
“Say it with me, folks. I’m talking about…”
“The class clown,” I say along with him.
“Every child counts,” Dawson goes on to say. “And each of these traits carries a significant stigma of their own, but I’ll leave the rest for those who can speak to them best.
“Our focus for this series is the delicate inner workings of the class clowns we either love, hate, or love to hate. You’ll discover just how crucial the parent, teacher, and peer response is to this peculiar group. Thanks to a recent study with Birch Creek University, we’ve learned that society can encourage these kids to greatness or watch them spiral toward devastation.
“It’s all about understanding what drives them most. You just might be surprised to learn what that is.”
A gripping melody plays as clips from upcoming episodes flash over the screen. Kids in classrooms, a teacher speaking passionately with tears in her eyes, a funeral service with mourning parents nearby.
My heart sinks as I sense the gravity of this topic; the relevance of this documentary. I regret not pressing Dawson on the topic. I wish I could rewind time and do it before coming on the show. Or insist that we watch it together while in the house, maybe an episode each night before falling asleep since there is five total.
Still, as Nick once said to Libby, there’s no time like the present. Sure, I want to sort through the catastrophic chaos happening in my life right now, but something tells me this is the best place to start.
I listen and watch in fascination as the first family is introduced—a couple tells how their child was the classic class clown that made students laugh and most teachers cry.
Another family is introduced, followed by another. Soon, guest psychologists take the stage and talk about a unique factor these personality types have in common. “While all kids want attention,” Licensed Clinical Psychologist, Shirley Vine says, “the need goes much deeper in these particular kids. At the heart, they want to lighten the mood. Entertain the crowd. Change the environment for good. But they don’t fully recognize that themselves. They just know that they have a deep need to be seen.”
The phrase is like a face punch. It’s what Dawson’s been saying to me this whole time.
“The problem is,” the therapist continues, “this can often produce contrary results, causing the person who needs to be seen to bemis-seeninstead.”
That one feels like another punch—this one to the gut.
“Not all of us have the same extent of this internal desire,” she explains, “so we assume this group wants to start trouble. That they’re just bored or ill-behaved. We unintentionally stifle their potential or cause feelings of shame and embarrassment surrounding this deep-rooted desire.”
The episodes fly by, the hours passing along with them. I hear from Dawson’s family too, and a teacher that his father says made all the difference in the world by recognizing what made Dawson tick at an early age—entertaining. The more people he could reach, the happier he was. But the more praise he received, the emptier he felt when none was given.
Dawson admits to seeking therapy after a breakup that nearly “shattered his life” and that’s when he discovered what LCP Vine refers to as the ego monster. It’s something entertainers must be aware of if they want to find balance in their lives. How much praise and adoration is enough? Is there such a thing as too much?
It occurs to me somewhere along the way that my father belongs in this category. It’s an explosion in my brain that causes such commotion, I’m not sure when the dust will settle. I’m left feeling a level of compassion for him I didn’t think possible, which in turn seems to remove some sort of barrier I hadn’t fully realized was there.
Or perhaps it’s not an unknown barrier at all. Perhaps it’s the very dam I built to block out my feelings for Dawson. How much of that cold, hard cement was borrowed from the hurt and anger I carried over my dad?
By the time the series is over, it feels like I understand them both more than I did before. And already, I sense the Dawson Dam is starting to crumble. For hours, I stare at my surroundings in the cozy treehouse, the area caught between daylight and dusk, allowing my perspective to shape and shift with the shadows.
I feel my love for Dawson multiplying as the minutes tick on; it’s thrilling and terrifying all at once. Thrilling because nothing has ever felt as good as this deep level of love. Terrifying because I wouldn’t blame Dawson for giving up on me completely.
Once light starts to peek over the horizon, I’m spent. I finally drift off to sleep with thoughts of finale day in my mind.
