Emily came home from school last Wednesday and told us that there had been a man on the patio during recess who was jumping. And she didn’t like him.

She was very matter-of-fact about her description of the event, which included her being very sad and crying and that she was very scared. We asked if her teachers knew about the man jumping on the patio and she said yes, they knew.

The next morning I dropped her off at school and casually asked one of her teachers who this man was. Turns out there is a young Italian street performer who lives upstairs from the school and he decided to perform an impromptu clown show through his window for the kids in the patio below during recess. Pantomime, disappearing and reappearing, face paint, and a big red nose. The whole shabang. Most of the kids thought it was rather entertaining. Some weren’t sure. Fewer still were scared of the man jumping on the patio. Emily was terrified. Violently and physically petrified.

Emily had to spend the rest of the recess in her teachers arms with constant reassurances that the jumping man would not hurt her and that everything was OK.

I have no idea where this coulrophobia had come from. We never had an issue with clowns before. But just the mere mention of that red nose sent Emily into a fit of, “I don’t like him!”.

Her teacher assured me that, if the man appeared again, she would talk to him and ask him not to perform for the children as some of them were afraid (none more than Emily). Emily and I were OK with that and I said goodbye.

Upon picking her up later that next day, it was obvious that the jumping man had come back. The teacher told me that Emily, shaking with fear, would not relax until brought back inside from recess. It was agreed that I should probably have a heart-to-heart with Emily once back in the comfort of our home. We tried talking about it and Emily agreed that some of her friends thought he was funny and she even admitted that he was “just” a clown, but logic and reasoning seemed to end there. She wasn’t happy. She didn’t want to sleep that night and she definitely didn’t want to go to school the next day.

She went to school the next day. I don’t know how I managed to convince her, but she went. She later refused to even set foot on the patio during recess. The teacher, after managing to communicate with the upstairs jumping man in spite of his pigeon Spanish, was able to borrow his red clown nose with the idea that it would be healthy for Emily to take it home for the weekend. That nose was krypotonite. She recognized that it was a ball and that it was red, but would not admit that it was a nose. It could not be a nose. I feel we made some progress.

After a long weekend of the nose haunting us from a shelf in the living room, I had her carry it to school this morning, which she was not very happy about. She handed the nose to her teacher as if it meant nothing and went on her merry way. We exchanged knowing glances and I bid them farewell. She apparently did much better at school today, though the jumping man was nowhere to be seen. There has been no mention of him this afternoon. So things are fine for now. I dread the jumping man’s next performance.