I had my first day back as a hospital clown for CHOA at Scottish Rite a few days ago, and I could not have had a better start. Dr. DooHickey and I went to our first hospital unit. As soon as we stepped on the floor, we were greeted with a smile from a familiar face. It was one of the managers on the floor. She said she was so happy that we were back at the hospital. Both Dr. DooHickey and I were very happy as well. She told us how much we were missed and thanked us for returning. It was nice to see a familiar face who wanted us back. As we were talking, a young nurse, who was completely new to me, asked me what those "things were" around my neck. She was referring to my juggling rings. She said, “Can I see those?” I was glad to be engaged with one of the eager hospital staff so well. I said absolutely.  She told me that she knew how to juggle. I gave her my juggling bean bags. Without missing a beat, she took them and started juggling. I took a step back and watched her juggle! It was my first day back at Scottish Rite in six years. I was greeted by a familiar face, and a nurse I  met for the first time was performing for us. She was bringing the circus energy. I couldn’t have had a better start.

I first began working as a hospital Clown in 2000.  It was a time of excitement and endless possibilities. I had landed a job with a Circus that was training my colleagues and me to use our performing and circus skills in Children’s hospitals. This concept was new and exciting for me. It was an opportunity to apply some of the performing, musical, and circus skills I have learned to entertain patients and families in a hospital.

It was my dream job.

Not only was it a wonderful opportunity, but I also felt like I was part of a bigger legacy. Our Atlanta team was part of a circus that began doing this work about 15 years ago. I liked the idea of working for a circus; the teenage version of me would be thrilled at the prospect. Our team did this work in Atlanta from 2000 to 2020.

We were on the verge of celebrating our 20th year of hospital clowning at Children's Healthcare of Atlanta when COVID happened. During the break from working in Atlanta,  I thought about how much I missed the work. I missed playing with the children, interacting with the medical staff, and seeing the parents as they cared for their children. I don’t think I took the work for granted. I was always grateful for the opportunity to do this work. Grateful for the opportunity to bring some joy and levity to the hospital. Grateful for the opportunity to use that artistic outlet to make people happy in a hospital setting. I was always proud of this work, and I still am.

Now, I'm grateful more than ever for the opportunity to put on my makeup, to pick up my ukulele, and washboard. To get my clown props and head out on the hospital floor.

The name of our organization has changed several times over the years. I can proudly say that we are now part of the Laughter League, an organization that has helped us get our footing back in Atlanta, and with whom I am eager to continue working as a hospital Clown. The legacy continues. Earlier this March,  I was in Switzerland at an international healthcare Clown meeting. At this meeting, over 680 artists from 46 countries who do this work were represented.  Amongst them was Michael Christensen, who was the leader of Big Apple Circus Clown Care when I began my journey 26 years ago. He's credited with creating this work. The conference was celebrating the 40th anniversary of the work Michael started.

Dr. Doo Hickey and I had a wonderful day clowning at Scottish Rite. We juggled, did hat tricks, played lots of music, and left a shimmer of happiness traveling through the hospital. I am grateful for the opportunity to once again do the work I love in the city where I live.

Last week, I found myself in Lausanne, Switzerland, a 40-minute train ride from Geneva, surrounded by 650 people who, in one way or another, have chosen the strange and beautiful path of healthcare clowning. It was HCIM, the Healthcare Clown International Meeting. There were attendees from 45 countries and 152 healthcare clown organizations represented. It is not often that you get to be in a room where everyone understands—deeply—what it means to walk into a hospital room with a red nose and an open heart.

It was wonderful to see so many familiar faces from across the healthcare clown world, people I have known for years, some for decades. And just as meaningful, it was a chance to make new friends—people who speak different languages, come from different systems, but somehow do the same work.

One of the highlights for me was seeing Michael Christensen involved in some of the early ceremonies. Michael, from the former Big Apple Circus and the Clown Care Unit, is widely credited with helping create this style of work more than 40 years ago. Watching him there felt a bit like seeing the spark that started a fire that is still spreading. As a former member of the Big Apple Circus, Clown Care Atlanta, I can proudly say I’m one of the clowns trained under that program in 2000 while Michael was there. What began as an idea—bringing clowning into hospitals—has become a growing field that continues to evolve. And yet, at its core, it remains rooted in something very simple: connection.

While at the conference, I had the opportunity to be part of a panel discussion I created titled “Laughing in the Lion’s Den.” The focus was on doing our work amid the current political climate. I am grateful to Sabine Choucair from Lebanon, founder of  Clown Me In, and Chiara Manavella from Austria ,Red Noses International for joining me in that conversation. And thanks to the HCIM staff for making space for it. The panel was well attended, which tells me that many of us are wrestling with the same questions. When I first had the idea for this panel, the political environment already felt complicated. Being from the United States, I was aware that our national context can create tension when working internationally. But now, with the current U.S. attacks in  Iran and so many other global tensions unfolding, the conversation feels even more urgent. This issue has come up in my work with Clowns Without Borders, USA. How do we show up as clowns—figures of play, vulnerability, and humanity—when the world around us feels increasingly divided? How do we carry both awareness and openness into the room? We had a lively discussion. We didn't come out with an ultimate answer. However, the vital need for our work is to clear.

Another moment that stayed with me was a session led by Dr. Baruch Krauss titled “The Art of Connecting with Children.” I found it fascinating. For many of us, the work we do has been shaped over years of experience. We often describe it as instinctual—and it is. You develop a sense of timing, of presence, of when to move closer and when to step back. What Dr. Krauss offered was something different: a scientific and psychological framework for understanding those same instincts. He articulated not only what we do, but why it works—when certain approaches help a child feel safe, and how connection can be built in very specific, intentional ways. For me, this was both affirming. It validated the work many of us have been doing for decades, while also making it more teachable. I can’t hand someone my instincts and say, “Here, use these.” And I can’t absorb someone else’s intuition by watching them. But a clear, thoughtful methodology and an explanation for why it works. That can be shared. That can be practiced. That can help someone grow into the work with confidence rather than uncertainty. What I appreciated most was that it didn’t diminish the artistry of the work—it clarified it. It gave language and structure to something that often lives just beyond words.

This was my third time attending HCIM. Previously, I attended the meeting in Vienna, Austria, in 2018, and the meeting in The Hague, Netherlands, in 2022. This year's meeting marked my first time attending as a member of the Laughter League. Our team here in Atlanta has gone through a few name changes over the years, but the work has continued. I'm especially proud of what we’ve been able to build and sustain over the past couple of years. At this conference, I saw many former colleagues from different organizations. No matter where we come from, there is a shared commitment to making the work better—for patients, for families, and for each other. That sense of collective purpose is something I don’t take for granted.

It was also especially meaningful to meet several people, IRL (In real life) —people I had only known virtually over the past few years. Some told me they had taken one of my online classes, which is always a bit surreal and humbling. You get to laugh together in real time, rather than through small rectangles on a screen, which, for clowns, feels like the most natural thing in the world.

This year at the conference, I made sure not to miss the musical sessions organized by Jon Luongo from Healthy Humor. During our lunch break, Jon organized these musical get-togethers where clown musicians can share and learn each other's songs. Those moments, sitting in a circle making music together, felt like the heart of the conference. Being in a musical circle, making something together with friends, both old and new, creates a kind of instant community. It’s not about performance. It’s about participation. It’s play, it’s collaboration. You just jump in, listen, respond, and suddenly you’re part of something shared. For me, it’s one of the purest expressions of what we do.

After the conference ended, I went to the Charlie Chaplin Museum in Vevey, Switzerland. I got a little lost when I decided to walk from the train station to the museum instead of taking the bus. Eventually, I found my way. The museum was impressive, covering Chaplin’s life and films. There were also thoughtful nods to other filmmakers of that era, including Buster Keaton—one of my personal favorites—and Harold Lloyd.

Walking through that space, I was reminded that what we do as clowns is part of a longer lineage. The tools may change, the settings may shift—from silent-film sets to hospital rooms to refugee camps—but the essence remains. It’s about presence. It’s about connection. It’s about finding a way to be human together, even in the most unlikely places.

#HCIM2026

Recently, I had the honor of being an officient at a wedding. My niece, who lives in South Carolina with her now husband, asked me to officiate at their wedding ceremony. I didn't expect this at all. That said, when she made the request, my only thought was, of course, I will say yes. I considered it an honor. I got a marriage license, then I thought about my role as the officient.

What do I do and say at this occasion other than the obvious, " Do you take this man to be your husband...” and "Do you take this woman to be your wife”? Even with those statements, I needed to ensure I was meeting the bride and groom's expectations. I asked both for general thoughts on how they met. Then I thought long and hard about what message I should share on their wedding day. They asked me to deliver a message of about 10 minutes. As I thought about this, one concept kept coming to mind. It's the concept of “snailtolka”. Snailtolka is a Swedish term meaning "to interpret kindly." I learned this several years ago in a meeting. I wrote about this two years ago in my blog, here. One of the first things we did in this meeting was talk about how to communicate and the importance of assuming the good intentions of the person you're communicating with.

Here is some of what I said  and the weddingthat day

Welcome to this historic event on a beautiful day, which is also the last day of Black History Month.

I feel like I should warn everyone because I am a weeper. I'm a grown man prone to crying at weddings, so know that if you see tears, they're obviously tears of joy.

There are many ways to love each other. I've done a little research, and there are apparently at least seven different love languages. They include

• 1. Appreciation: Thanking and praising your partner for making your life better.

• 2. Activity: Doing fun things together, like going out or trying new hobbies.

• 3. Emotional: Feeling listened to and cared for, especially when you’re upset or need support.

• 4. Financial: Showing love by giving gifts, saving for special times, or helping with money.

• 5. Intellectual: Talking about interesting and sharing these  topics, sharing books, ideas etc or listening to podcasts together.

• 6. Physical: Giving hugs, cuddles, and physical intimacy.

• 7. Practical: Helping each other with chores, errands, and everyday tasks.

With this list there's a swirl of opportunities to communicate love, ways to reach out and show our partners how we love them.

That said, life will inevitably happen around all of those things. And sometimes our love languages will not align. One may want more appreciation, while the partner wants something physical; or one may want more activities, dates, and hobbies, while the other wants more emotional connection. All of this can lead to confusion and disappointment, which brings me to the main theme of my time here today.

It's a word I learned a few years ago. I was in a room full of people speaking many different languages. In this case, not love languages, but Spanish, English, Swazi, Portuguese, French, and Swedish.  One of the first things we did was have a conversation about communication. During that talk, someone introduced a word I’d never heard. This word and this concept helped us bridge some of our language differences and to be kinder to each other.

The word is Snälltolka.

This word captures the heart of what makes a relationship work:

"Snälltolka." It means "to interpret kindly,"

It means having the intent to understand and giving each other the benefit of the doubt. It involves assuming that the person you are interacting with is good-hearted and doing their best, even if their communication is poor or results in a misunderstanding.

It is a conscious, active choice not to build hostile narratives without evidence.

So, it's a generic Tuesday morning and your partner is doing that thing that drives you crazy. What do you do?  Snälltolka.

When that special occasion rolls around (you know the one)  and your partner did their best, but your expectations aren't met. What do you do? Snälltolka.

It’s about believing the best in the one you love, even when you’re tired, even when you disagree, even when life gets complicated. It’s about the courage to keep the dialogue open, having the humility to apologize, and the grace to assume good intentions.

So, when you face challenges, return to the conversation, listen, seek understanding, and practice Snälltolka. That’s how you can keep your love strong and your connection deep.

Today, we celebrate a love that’s not just passion but also, hopefully, patient —a love that will endure because we want this bride and groom to keep talking and to interpret each other’s words and actions with kindness and trust.

There is a lot going on in our world right now. A lot of division and hate. To that, I have this quote

"I know it's tough not to hate these days. Sometimes, we get contaminated, and the hate gets more powerful with more hate. The only thing that is more powerful than hate is love. So please, we need to be different. If we fight, we have to do it with love."   Bad Bunny

So, as you begin this new adventure,  may your marriage be filled with laughter and long conversations. May you always Snälltolka each other’s words. May you remember that the heart of a lasting love is not just in saying "I do," but in saying, every day, “I’m still here. I’m still talking. And I still believe in us.”

May your love always be stronger than anything that comes your way, and may your conversation never end.

Recently, I sat down with my friend and fellow clown Tim Cunningham on his podcast, Niners. 

His podcast is built around a simple idea: conversations with people living on the cusp. The cusp of a decade or a century, on the cusp of bringing new life into the planet, and questions about hopes, dreams, regrets, and advice for other listeners. 

In my case, I am 59.

As I approach this cusp, I find myself thinking about the black men in my family who were not fortunate enough to live as long as I have, my brother and my father, who passed away way too early. My brother, in his early 30s, passed away from complications with AIDS, and my father from a heart attack when he was 51. It's strange to think that I am almost a decade older than my father ever was. 

Of course, I have my own set of health issues. However, they don't interfere with my life that much. I still enjoy my usual work routine, which includes performing, taking long walks in the neighborhood, practicing regular yoga, and as much music as I can fit into my schedule. 

Recently, I had my piano tuned. I've had it for about 15 years, and I haven't maintained a regular tuning routine. After it was tuned, it sounded better. I've been playing more because it's a better experience to play a piano that's in tune. It just sounds good. 

My piano has a "soft" pedal. A pedal that subtly mutes the strings of the piano so that it's not as loud as it could be. The pedal on the piano lowers a strip of felt between the strings and the hammers that strike the strings. The felt between the strings and the hammer softens the sound as the piano is played. In the past, I enjoyed this "muted" piano sound, so I always set the pedal down, creating a softer sound.  

However, after I had the piano tuned, I started to play with the soft pedal off. With the pedal up, it allows the piano to play in its full voice, making a much louder sound. Now, when I play my piano, I am reminded of the importance of keeping myself in tune physically, spiritually, and emotionally. It's a lesson in self-care that I've learned from my piano.

I am much better when I am not muted, when I am in my full voice.

Approaching sixty, I find myself focusing on trying to squeeze (pun intended) as much life as I can out of the time I have remaining. More importantly, getting older has made me a better clown - more forgiving and patient. Experience has shown me more about what does not matter in a performance and in life. Now it's about using my full voice more effectively.

While in my late 50s, I began to get more comfortable with the idea of being 60. Since interviewing with Tim in September, I have turned 60. 

I am grateful for the life I have, my family, my wife, and my daughter, who love me, and for the community that I've been a part of for many years.

 I recommend listening to Niners (link here). Or better yet, sit down with a friend who's been in the trenches with you. Talk about the years that shaped you, the ones that broke you, and the moments that still make you giggle. Getting older isn't about losing relevance; it's about refining resonance.

Tim Cunningham also wrote an excellent essay about clowning, which was published in The Washington Post. You can find it here.

On July 24, we gathered in the backyard of Clowns Without Borders USA President Tim Cunningham for our 2nd Annual Atlanta Backyard Fundraiser,  hosted by Tim and me. It was an evening soaked in laughter, generosity, and yes, just a bit of actual rain. This gathering was not merely a fundraising event; it was a celebration of our community's dedication to bringing happiness and relief to those who need it most, particularly children facing difficult circumstances around the globe. As the late evening approached, dark clouds loomed overhead, and we were met with a rain shower that threatened to dampen our outdoor festivities. Despite the weather, we pressed on, determined to make the evening a success.

We were fortunate to have remarkable guest performers, including the talented cellist Jenn Cornell, whose music set a captivating tone for the evening, and the delightful clowns Matt Baum and Reuben Haller, who brought their unique clown skills to the festivities. As the rain finally relented, we were able to move outdoors and embrace the beauty of the evening. A particularly magical moment for me occurred when I joined my fellow clowns for their performance. Initially, I had planned to accompany them on the shaker—a gourd from our recent tour to Zimbabwe that was part of the evening's auction. But as I stepped into the space, a radiant rainbow appeared above Tim's house, arching across the sky like a bridge of hope and optimism. In that moment, I felt a connection to our mission and the goals we had set for the evening.

Throughout the event, we encouraged attendees to participate in a silent auction that featured photographs by Moshe Cohen, the founder of Clowns Without Borders USA. Additionally, I contributed the musical gourd, which I had brought back from a recent tour in Zimbabwe, adding a personal touch to our fundraising efforts. The evening not only showcased our commitment to one another but also highlighted the importance of using our voices and talents to bring laughter. We are thrilled to report that we exceeded our fundraising goal, raising over $12,000 for Clowns Without Borders. This will go a long way in supporting upcoming tours and initiatives worldwide. However, the demand for support continues, and we remain grateful to everyone who attended, donated, and shared in our vision. Together, as a community, we can continue to spread joy and laughter, ensuring that our efforts impact children in every corner of the world. For those who wish to contribute further, it's not too late to donate. You can click on this link to support this cause. Thank you for helping us make a difference!

 It's been a few weeks since I returned to  Atlanta from my latest tour with Clowns Without Borders in Zimbabwe, and I'm grateful to have the support to do this work. It takes planning and coordination to ensure the success of these tours, and I am especially thankful for our collaboration with the talented artists and dedicated staff from the Zimbabwe Theater Academy. Working alongside Teddy, Lloyd, and Tsungie was a joy. I look forward to the chance to return to Harare, Zimbabwe, and once again embrace the name Lloyd bestowed upon me during this tour: "Baba Harare," meaning "Father Harare." 

This journey involves not only creativity but significant logistical support at each of our destinations. We were fortunate to have local support that helped us navigate the culture, facilitating connections with schools and venues where we performed, accompanied by a photographer and sometimes local leaders who enriched our experience. Each of these individuals played a role in our clown endeavors. As a board member, I frequently find myself in meetings that focus on logistics, administrative challenges, financial matters, and policies. While these discussions are critical, they exist only to support our work. That's why I cherish the opportunity to be one of the artists, a clown on this tour—to bring music to life, to juggle, to conjure magic, and to delight audiences with our clown routines. The smiles on the children's faces and the enthusiastic applause as we invited teachers on stage to join us reaffirmed my passion for clowning and filled me with pride for the work we do.

As clowns, our purpose is to spread joy and laughter wherever we go. Yet, too often, the true essence of clowns is overshadowed by misunderstanding and misinterpretation. Tim Cunningham, our board president, recently wrote an opinion piece in the Washington Post addressing this issue. It's an insightful read that captures the heart and spirit of our work, reminding us that although some might not fully understand our work, we press on with unwavering dedication. A link to the option piece is here.

On July 24, Tim and I will host the Second Annual Atlanta Backyard Fundraiser for Clowns Without Borders USA. If you've ever wondered how to contribute to our cause—how to bring joy, laughter, and healing to communities around the globe through the universal language of clowning—this event is for you. Your support is the lifeblood that makes our tours possible. Join us for an evening filled with laughter, food, and meaningful connections, helping us ensure that our work continues to touch those who need it most. And if you can't join us in Atlanta on the 24th, your donations—no matter the amount—are greatly appreciated. A link to the Fundraiser is here.

Touring with Clowns Without Borders transcends mere performance. It's about cultivating relationships and infusing joy into places that carry weight and hardship. It's about showing up fully, with a red nose and an open heart. 

Together, let's bring laughter to the world!

Our last day of shows began with a long drive, about an hour and a half from Chipinge, south to Tongogara Refugee Settlement. 

As we traveled, I wondered: Could this be my last tour with Clowns Without Borders? I hope not. I love doing this work. But a tour like this one only happens when a particular constellation of timing, team, and availability all align—and that alignment is never guaranteed. I started the day by focusing on the moment at hand and working to make the most of every moment I had left here.

We arrived at the Tongogara refugee settlement office around 10:00 a.m. to check-in. From there, we planned to travel 30 minutes down the road to perform inside the camp. Tongogara, located in Chipinge District, is home to thousands of African refugees. Initially established in 1984 for Mozambicans fleeing civil war, it reopened in the late '90s to support people seeking safety from other conflicts. We were eager to bring our show there. But as often happens on tour, the plan changed.

Despite having the proper paperwork, we learned that Zimbabwean authorities were not allowing us into the camp that day. A tangle of bureaucratic red tape had blocked us. And while we could have returned the next day, there was no guarantee we'd be allowed in. After careful thought, we decided it was best not to risk missing a full day of clowning while waiting on maybe.

So, at 11:30 a.m., we turned around and headed back toward Chipinge. Thanks to Gregory—our photographer and local contact—we secured two new show locations at primary schools in the area.

Our first stop was Mattiome Primary School, where 1,600 students gathered by the shade of a giant tree. As the show began, students trickled in from every direction, gradually forming a full circle around us. We had to shift and pivot—literally and comedically—to include everyone in our performance. In the crowd, Josie noticed a particularly stern-looking man, who was all discipline and order. But as the show wore on and the laughter grew louder, something changed. His posture softened. Eventually, he smiled. That smile was a victory.

Next, we went to Gaza Primary School—our final stop on this Zimbabwean tour. The performance space was narrow, uneven, and a bit chaotic. Over 1,500 students showed up, their energy spilling over the edges of our makeshift stage. It was a challenge to focus them, and ourselves, but we clowned through it. In the end, they laughed, we laughed, and that shared joy.

Although we didn't make it to Tongogara, we performed for nearly 3,000 children on our final day.

We packed our gear, costumes, and clown props into the car and began our journey back to Harare, Zimbabwe's capital. Along the way, we stopped in Chipinge to grab a bite to eat. While at the restaurant, a young school-age girl about 10 spotted Josie from across the playground. Her face lit up with recognition as she called out Josie's clown name, Manhanga Kutapira, which means "Sweet Pumpkins." She waved enthusiastically, a radiant smile spread across her face as she played, the memory of our show still fresh with her. About thirty minutes later, we paused again—this time at a roadside market. A vendor selling macadamia nuts looked up and broke into a broad grin. It was another student from one of our shows. He recognized us from a performance we had given at his school and called out my clown name, "Baba Harare." His delight was genuine, his memory fresh. We bought a few bags of nuts, shared a few laughs, and got back on the road, 

We felt warm and humbled to have left an imprint. To be remembered with such joy by these young people was a reminder of the quiet, lasting magic of this work.

As we wrap up this tour, I am grateful for the laughter, the lessons, and especially the people—huge thanks to Teddy and Lloyd of the Zimbabwe Theatre Academy. Teddy was the engine behind the tour's planning, and Lloyd—"Chimodho"—was our driver, road manager, and hilarious clown partner. I also want to shout out my fellow clowns Tsungie ("Pirori") and Josie ("Manhanga Kutapira"), who brought creativity, warmth, and heart to the shows.

Touring with Clowns Without Borders is about so much more than performance. It's about being fully present. It's about meeting people where they are—with red noses and open hearts. It's about creating joy in spaces that too often carry weight and sorrow. It's about being part of a global team working toward laughter, connection, and dignity.

If you've ever wondered how to support this work—how to help bring joy, healing, and laughter to communities worldwide—here's your chance.

Mark your calendars: Thursday, July 24th, is our Second Annual Fundraiser for Clowns Without Borders USA. We're gathering in Atlanta at the home of our dear friend and fellow joy-bringer, Tim Cunningham. There will be food, laughter, connection, and a chance to help ensure this work continues. The funds raised will go toward our upcoming projects in Lebanon and Gaza—places in deep need of joy.

A link to the fundraiser is here.

After a long six-hour drive from Harare, we finally arrived in Chimanimani, a breathtaking mountain region in Zimbabwe's Eastern Highlands, with green hills, valleys, and an open sky. 

Our first performance in Chimanimani took place on a football field. We watched students come down the hill toward us, walking in neat lines, their excitement buzzing. When we started, that energy took off. They clapped, laughed, and cheered. And when the show ended, the real party began. Music played, and the entire field turned into a spontaneous dance floor. Josie led a joyful parade of dancing students across the field and back up the hill. Watching her guide the children in rhythm while the sun dipped lower over the horizon was beautiful. 

At our next location, we spent some time with the school's headmaster before the show. He shared how he believed in the importance of arts in education and how vital it is for students to experience creativity and play. It turns out he didn't just talk the talk—Tsungi pulled him up on stage mid-show for an impromptu dance number. The crowd went wild. You could feel the students' pride watching their headmaster dance with joy and abandon. 

On both days, Mr. Murime, a provincial administrator from Chimanimani, joined us.  His energy and passion for arts education were strong. He stayed with us throughout our shows and told us he was excited to explore teaching, clowning, and juggling to students in the area. Watching him light up with new ideas was as heartening as any performance.

On our second day in Chimanimani, we drove about 45 minutes to Bumba Primary School. The headmaster welcomed us warmly and assured us we were good to go.

The show turned into a spirited competition. As we performed, the students began chanting our clown names in Shona, the language spoken here. It became a game—who could cheer the loudest for their favorite clown? The schoolyard was filled with echoes of "Baba Harare," which means Father Harare when they cheered for me, "Manhanga Kutapira," which means sweet pumpkin when they cheered for Josie, "Chimodho," which means Bread from Home when they cheered for Lloyd, and "Pirori," the name of a popular song when they cheered for Tsungi! The four of us and the audience of students were together to make it a fun game.

Later, one of the older teachers got caught up in the fun and jumped up to dance with Tsungi. He made the most of his opportunity to dance with the clowns. When the show ended, one child said, "Clowning is to make people happy." Honestly, I couldn't have put it better myself.

Our next stop that day was Matendeudze Primary School—a large school with over 1,000 students. We set up for a show in the round, with the students surrounding us. The energy was electric. After a 30-minute break, we did a second show at the same school. The first had been for older, middle-school-aged students; the second was for the younger elementary school kids. If the first show had a buzz, the second had fireworks. The younger kids were bursting with enthusiasm. I think word of the first show had gotten out, and they were ready. They yelled, they danced, and their laughter felt like music.

We could've stopped there. We'd already done three shows. But we felt the momentum and asked ourselves—what if we could squeeze in one more?

So we did.

Our fourth and final show of the day was at a nearby school just as the students were wrapping up their lessons. We performed in the courtyard while the kids gathered around us in a tight circle. Despite being at the end of their day, they still had energy to spare, cheering just as loudly and laughing as hard. Once again, we heard them chanting our names, choosing favorites, and playing along with every gag. At the end of the show, one of the teachers said, "That show had our whole curriculum —music, drama, a little bit of math, and even PE."

In Chimanimani, we danced on football fields, brought headmasters into the spotlight, and witnessed the power of play transcend age, role, and language. We laughed, we danced, we connected. Clowning, at its core, is about joy—and in Chimanimani, joy was everywhere.

If you've ever wondered how to support this work—how to bring joy, laughter, and healing to communities worldwide through the universal language of clowning, mark your calendars: Thursday, July 24, is our Second Annual Fundraiser for Clowns Without Borders USA. It will be held in Atlanta at the home of our dear friend Tim Cunningham.  Laugh, eat, connect, and help us make sure this work continues to reach the places that need it most.  A link to the fundraiser is here. 

Touring with Clowns Without Borders is about so much more than performance. It's about building beautiful relationships. It's about bringing joy to places that carry weight and hardship. It's about showing up fully, with a red nose and an open heart. Proceeds will bring laughter to children and families in Lebanon and Gaza.

The clowns dance the students back to school after the show.

Laughter, Washboards, and "Girl Power" – Halfway Through Zimbabwe with Clowns Without Borders

We're a little over halfway through our tour of Zimbabwe with Clowns Without Borders, and I know this trip will live with me for a long time. The days have started to blur together—packed with dusty roads, vibrant smiles, connections, and spontaneous joy. 

Yesterday's show was electric, and the schoolchildren's audience responded beautifully. There's something magical about that moment when the line between performer and audience dissolves. You stop "doing a show" and start having a shared experience. That's what today felt like.

After the show, the joy spilled past the edge of the performance. Josie led a dancing mob of students like some pied piper of rhythm. Tsungi had a crowd chasing bubbles. Llyod, one of the Zimbabwean artists, gave me a new name: "Baba Harare" (which means Father Harare). Baba Harare was surrounded by a pack of curious and energetic boys, all taking turns ringing the bell on my washboard.

Then I saw her: a young girl standing slightly apart from the group, wearing a bright shirt that read "Girl Power." I made sure to invite her in to enjoy the fun. Her smile beamed like sunlight. Sometimes, a moment is small, but it's everything.

A boy asked me what my instrument was called. When I told him it was a washboard, he nodded as if filing that detail away for future mischief. Later, another child came up as we were leaving and said, "I will miss you." That's the kind of goodbye that hits you in the ribs. It's a reminder that even brief moments can leave lasting impressions.

Another moment that stayed with me from the show happened during the performance. I spotted a nun in the crowd as we played, clowned, and danced. She was sitting toward the back. But then I saw it—a laugh. Not just a chuckle but a full-bodied laugh that lit up her whole face. After the show, music played, and she stayed in her seat and danced—shoulders swaying, feet tapping. Her joy was unmistakable. 

In our show today, we did something different: we performed for adults with mental challenges. Most of our shows here in Zimbabwe have been for school-age children. But this audience required a different kind of attention. We had to listen more closely and adjust more deliberately. And yet, even in that space, laughter found its way in. Our show is built with flexibility—something that paid off today. There were moments of hesitation, but they gave way to connection, presence, and joy.

Tonight, we prepare for a long travel day. Tomorrow, we drive six hours from Harare to Chimanimani. That means packing up and getting ready to greet a new location with open hearts and red noses.

Our time in Harare has been full of laughter, dancing, and unexpected beauty, one washboard bell ring, one bubble, andone shared dance at a time. I'm excited for what lies ahead in Chimanimani. 

Mark your calendars: Thursday, July 24, is our Second Annual Fundraiser for Clowns Without Borders USA. It will be in Atlanta at the home of our dear friend Tim Cunningham. If you've ever wondered how to support this work—how to bring joy, laughter, and healing to communities worldwide through the universal language of clowning—this is the event for you. Laugh, eat, connect, and help us make sure this work continues to reach the places that need it most.  A link to the fundraiser is here. 

Touring with Clowns Without Borders is about so much more than performance. It's about building beautiful relationships. It's about bringing joy to places that carry weight and hardship. It's about showing up fully, with a red nose and an open heart. Proceeds will bring laughter to children and families in Lebanon and Gaza.

From Harare to Chimanimani and beyond, I'll keep ringing my bell, chasing bubbles, and dancing with whoever's willing. Laughter still has a place, even in the face of great challenges.

Hope to see you on July 24. 

The First Day of the Shows, The Laughter Begins.

Today was our first day of shows with the  Clowns Without Borders tour in Zimbabwe.  There's something magical about the first day of shows. We have a team of artists working together for the first time. — The anticipation and the nerves start and stop, ending with seeing the sheer joy of the audience. 

Our team of clowns and support staff arrived at the school and checked in with the school officials. As we waited in the car, we could see some students peeking at us with curiosity shining in their eyes.

Once the school officials cleared us, we set up our show in the courtyard. Several goats and chickens were in the space as we set up, but they mostly ignored us as we got ready for the show. 

First, the younger elementary students arrived. They sat in front, then the older elementary students, and eventually some Junior and high school students. What an audience we had. Eight hundred twenty students gathered, wide-eyed and buzzing with energy. It was a sea of smiles and school uniforms, a palpable excitement. Performing for such a large group was exhilarating. The sound of children's laughter coming through the school grounds is wonderful. It is music that reaches inside you and lifts your emotions.

My favorite moment in the show was when Tsunji was singing, and she brought one of the teachers from the audience on stage to sing to. The students roared with laughter at this. 

After the show, some other teachers asked us when we were returning. 

It was a great way to begin the tour. I will post more about it over the week here on my blog.

When I return to Atlanta in a few weeks, we'll host our Second Annual Fundraiser for Clowns Without Borders USA on Thursday, July 24. If you're in the  Atlanta area, I'd love for you to join us. You can support our work by visiting the fundraiser link here if you can't attend the event.  It'll be an evening of stories, joy, connection, and clowning to support our work. This Zimbabwe tour is just one small piece of a much larger mission, and we can't do it without your support. Whether you donate, attend our fundraiser, or spread the word, it all makes a difference.

Stay tuned for more updates from Zimbabwe as our show comes to life and our tour begins. I'll be sharing stories from the field, behind-the-scenes glimpses of the creative process, and some joyful moments that remind us of the power of laughter.

The Link to the fundraiser is https://givebutter.com/j5njHV.

Thanks from Zimbabwe,

Meredith

Hello,  from Harare, Zimbabwe! Just a few days ago, I left my familiar home in Decatur, Georgia (in the heart of Metro Atlanta)  and started a tour that excites and humbles me. After a lengthy flight, I found myself in Johannesburg, South Africa, for an overnight layover before my final destination. As I settle into Harare, the rest of our team and I prepare to do our clown work.

This trip marks an opportunity for me as part of the Clowns Without Borders performance team. Over the next two weeks, my fellow artists and I will rehearse and refine our show to create unforgettable moments of joy for the children here. It's incredible to think about how humor transcends barriers of language and culture, making it a powerful tool for connection and healing. 

On Monday, we begin our rehearsals. This is one of my favorite parts of the process. I'm looking forward to working with Teddy, Lloyd, and Sunji from the Zimbabwe Theater Academy and Josie Mae, whom I worked with several years ago with CWB in Turkey.

Creating a performance with a shared purpose is fulfilling, and I look forward to seeing how it unfolds as we dive into this process together. While laughter is our primary goal, it's important to remember the backdrop of our performances—the realities faced by the children we aim to entertain. Many of them are in challenging circumstances and experience hardships. It's our goal to bring joy into their lives, if only for a brief moment, through the art of clowning and performance. We hope our time together can ignite a spark of happiness, a chance for them to laugh and play. 

For those unfamiliar, Clowns Without Borders brings laughter and play to areas in crisis—places impacted by conflict, displacement, or natural disasters. The goal is simple but profound: to offer joy where it's most needed. That joy may be a clown routine, a juggling act gone delightfully wrong, or a wordless moment of connection that transcends culture and language.

This is my first time performing in Africa, and while every tour is different, the underlying spirit of clowning remains the same. It's about presence, vulnerability, and generosity. It's about showing up—red nose on, heart open—and saying to the world, "Yes, You matter. Your laughter matters." That message resonates wherever we go.

And speaking of saying yes— next month, when I return to Atlanta, we'll host our Second Annual Fundraiser for Clowns Without Borders USA on Thursday, July 24. If you're in the area, I'd love for you to join us. It'll be an evening of stories, joy, connection, and clowning—all to support our work. This Zimbabwe tour is just one small piece of a much larger mission, and we can't do it without your support. Whether you donate, attend our fundraiser, or spread the word, it all makes a difference.

Stay tuned for more updates from Zimbabwe as our show comes to life and our tour begins. I'll be sharing stories from the field, behind-the-scenes glimpses of the creative process, and some joyful moments that remind us of the power of laughter.

Thanks from Zimbabwe,

Meredith (aka Squeeze the Clown)

I am excited to be traveling to Munich, Germany, to attend the Clowns Without Borders (CWB) International General Assembly. My journey with CWB began six years ago as a volunteer artist during my first tour to the Bahamas in December 2019. Looking back on that time, it feels like a different world, especially considering how the COVID-19 pandemic has reshaped our work. Back then, our Atlanta hospital clown care team was actively engaged, bringing joy and comfort to children and families in healthcare settings. Today, our work is still vital, but with different challenges.

My passion for clown work, particularly with CWB and hospital clowning, stems from the unique intersection of creativity and community service. This upcoming assembly provides a platform for artists and administrators from CWB chapters around the globe to unite and share insights. Participants will include representatives from England, South Africa, Brazil, Spain, France, and Sweden and others. I remember my experience at the last general assembly in Barcelona, Spain, where I made some connections. I look forward to reconnecting with familiar faces and making new friends this time around.

As I get ready, one concern is on my mind: the political environment affecting our work. Here in the United States, the current administration has not fostered an atmosphere of kindness or collaboration with our international neighbors. At times, it has been outright hostile, which is in stark contrast to the principles of empathy and compassion that are foundational to what we do. During the assembly, I am eager to engage with fellow artists and administrators in meaningful discussions about how we can continue our mission despite these challenges.

Several weeks ago I participated in a virtual panel discussion with fellow CWB USA board members: Victoria Te You Moore, Tim Cunningham, Amrita Dhaliwal, and CWB Executive Director Frankie Thompkins. This panel was part of a broader online conference that gathered clown artists from various backgrounds. We delved into the significance of our work, the trauma responses we observe in the populations we serve, and the history of how CWB has evolved. It was enlightening to explore the lessons we've learned that equip us to better support the communities we engage with and enhance the impact of our clowning work.

At its core, clowning is about fostering empathy and connection. Our work at Clowns Without Borders embodies this principle, as we work to create moments filled with humor, presence, and compassion that can uplift those we encounter. We engage in social initiatives designed to cultivate safe spaces where children can experience the joy of being kids, regardless of their circumstances.

You can view the panel discussion here

https://youtu.be/vuql1KeDzZI?si=FuTeLKJ7dbJx8hCv

Meanwhile, I will continue to share updates about the details of the general assembly in Munich on my blog as we carry on with our mission of serving others through clown work.

As we wrap up February, which is African-American history month, I wanted to look back on one of my favorite recent shows this month. I had the pleasure of performing for the Roswell Roots Kids Family Celebration Art at the Roswell Cultural Arts Center. During that show, I did my usual routine of juggling, music, and humor. I also took the opportunity to talk about three artists who have always inspired me and my work. These artists are the Mills Brothers, Josephine Baker, and Bert Williams. Each of these artists deserves their share of attention. However, I wanted to include all three of them for the show.

The Mills Brothers hold a special meaning to me. They became a household name in the early 20th century with their distinct vocal arrangements. Their ability to harmonize effortlessly set them apart in a burgeoning music industry focused on individuality. Songs like "Paper Doll" and "You Always Hurt the One You Love" became staples of their repertoire. In some early pictures of the Mills Brothers, you see the oldest of the Brothers, John, holding a ukulele. The ukulele he's holding is a baritone ukulele similar to the ukulele I play in my shows and my hospital work.  When I look at the images of the brothers Donald, Harry, and Herbert Mills, I see they look like me. Their style of dress and demeanor on stage was similar to mine; of course, they were not clowns; however, they were singers, and I do more than my share of singing in my work. One of my favorite things to do in the hospital is to play music. Much of the music I play is from the era of the Mills Brothers and their peers, the Ink Spots. They carried with them musical excellence, refinement, poise, and elegance, which I admire.

The second artist is Josephine Baker. Josephine Baker was a multi-talented performer, Baker emerged as one of the first Black international stars with her stage presence and groundbreaking performances. Baker's famous act in the 1920s involved dancing in a banana skirt, a performance that challenged the norms of society. She moved to France because she found better work opportunities there. When World War II began, she became involved in the French resistance against the Nazis. Josephine Baker was not merely a vaudeville dancer and jazz singer; she was a force of nature who shattered the racial barriers of her time and became an international celebrity. 

Her stardom became a shield, giving her to confront the realities of the Nazi regime. Fearless and fiercely outspoken, Josephine discovered ways to challenge those who sought to belittle or silence the suffering of the oppressed. She unearthed ways to captivate her audience and boldly resist injustice by amplifying her voice. You can read more about her activities during World War II here. She is an example of an artist doing what they can to make the world a better place.

The final artist is Bert Williams.  Williams was famous for performing in minstrel shows at the turn of the century. Early in his career, he performed with another black man, George Walker, as two "Real Coons”. They used this name because it was fashionable for white performers to put on blackface and perform as Black people, "coons”.

After  George Walker passed away, Bert Williams continued to perform in minstrel shows and vaudeville, working with the Ziegfeld Follies. In his day, Williams was one of the country's three most famous black men, along with boxer Jack Johnson and educator Booker T Washington. He made his movie, "Natural Born Gambler," over a hundred years ago. In the film, he plays a gambler in an illegal gambling house. It is a silent classic that holds up well as a film today.

Offstage, Williams was a tall man known for his poise and distinction. On stage, he played a character known for his ineptness. Throughout his career, he faced institutional racism, which meant that the only roles he could play were the lazy coon. Within that role, he was known for giving his characters depth and dignity. 

I am grateful that Al Stilo invited me to do the show at Roswell. I appreciate the opportunity to perform for the audience to create laughter and joy and share some history that speaks to our experience today.

Last week, we performed our last show,of 'What are You?' 

What a journey it has been. I've been involved in several versions of this production over the past four years. The first version was in 2020, during the COVID-19 epidemic. Because theaters weren't performing for live audiences, it was a film rather than a live stage performance. A few years later, in 2022, we did a version on the beltline. This time, we finally had the opportunity to perform it in a theater as an immersive experience for a live audience.

I am incredibly grateful to Nicolette for coming up with this idea and inviting me to explore this topic. I'm also thankful for the other artists: Monica, Jacquelyn, Arthur, Aileen, Ari, Kai, Wuzii, Alisha, Aubrey, Gryff, and others.

One of the first things we did in this version was to develop the idea of different representations of our racial identity. When Nicolette introduced the idea of having a symbol, I thought about what symbol I could use. My first idea was to use a Black Power Afro pick. I didn't want to settle for the first thing that came to mind so quickly. I put that idea aside and wrecked my brain to think of something better. I thought hard about what other things I could use as a symbol.  As we continued to rehearse, I realized I was running out of time and needed to decide. I eventually settled on sticking with the Black Power Afro pick because I couldn't think of anything else. Part of what convinced me to stick with the idea of the pick was that  Heidi said that Aileen, one of the crew members, could make a 6-foot Black Power Afro pick that I could use as a prop in the show. This pick would be as big as me and offer some interesting ideas.

After that decision, we continue working to develop the rest of the show. This process led me to think of the Jackson 5,  45 records, and the idea of wearing my brother's hand-me-down clothes and  "dressing "for church came to mind. 

I'm also grateful that Nicolette used my mother's music. Several years before my mother passed away, I took mom to a recording studio and had her record some of her favorite gospel songs. We used one of these recordings,  "This Joy, "in the beltline version from two years ago, and Nicolette liked the idea of keeping it in the show for this production. For this production, we decided that I would play along with my mother on the piano as part of the final transition for the show. This was a delight because although I grew up hearing my mother play the piano,  I never had the opportunity to play with her until this production came along. I'm very grateful that this production allowed me to do that.

 Sharing my mother's music made me think about how we use art. I have always felt sensibility and sentimentality toward my mom's music. Because it was so personal to me, it was something that I held close to my heart. However, sharing it and using it in this show for others to hear was appealing. Sharing it with others makes it more valuable. You can find more music by Florence Gordon, aka my mom, here.

Exploring racial identity has always interested me. I was eager to do it when I heard about this project from Nicolette. I thought about Grace, my daughter, who is interracial, and the other stories that need to be heard.

The Atlanta Constitution Journal said, “Meredith Gordon gives a story monologue about growing up as a black child in America.”

Below are my "I Am Statement" and my monologue from the show.

• I am from Jackson 5 Records, the 45 singles.

• I am from the feeling of wearing my brother's hand-me-down clothes.

• I am from a morning breakfast with bacon

• I am from a daily bus ride that passes a Confederate monument

• I am from the sound of hearing my mother play the piano

• I am from a church service every Sunday at 11 AM. Then… another church service that same day at 7:30 in the evening

———————————

Please give it up for the Black Power Afro Pick!

I saw picks like this everywhere, especially in back pockets as a child. …The pick would go in your back pocket, and the fist could be seen just above the edge of your pocket, showing a sense of pride to anyone who saw it. Although my hair is a  little shorter now, in the 1970s, I used a pick like this to comb my afro.

As a child, I also remember hearing the call-and-response chants around me. Sometimes, I would hear this response in church; other times, it will be in another part of the community. These chants had a sense of syncopation that was always around. Sometimes, I could hear this syncopation in how my mother played the piano; other times, I could see it in how my father would play with a baseball. 

Being black is at the root of who I am. I was born the child of black parents. I grew up in a black neighborhood where I played with other black children. That's where I learned right from wrong and a sense of fair play. Kids can be hard on each other. Sometimes, I was teased and mocked. Other times, I was the one the kids mocking others. 

In 1968,  Olympic athletes Tommie Smith and John Carlos won medals in Mexico City for their achievements. During the award ceremony, they put black gloves on their hands and raised their fists in protest while the national anthem played.

This protest shocked the establishment.  This exhibition of black pride, power, and resistance was unacceptable. After the protest, Smith and Carlos were vilified. In the years that followed, they were subjected to abuse and death threats. 

Now…Today, I wonder, do I measure up to what they and others have done? Have I exhibited my sense of  Black pride, power, and resistance? I ask myself, where have I lived up to this responsibility? Have I done enough? Am I doing enough? The sound of the children in the neighborhood mocking me returns. But now I'm an adult, and the voice in my head says….

"Am I Black enough?" 

My challenge is balancing this existence, reconciling it, and somehow making sense of it all. 

Am I worthy of the Black Power Afro pick? 

I am thrilled to perform in "What Are You?", created by Nicolette Emmanuel, at 7 Stages Theater. The show previews on November 7 and opens on November 9.

This production is the third installment of this project I've enjoyed contributing to over the past several years. The opportunity to present this piece in front of a live audience at 7 Stages adds a dimension to the experience, making it feel even more impactful, and we have the opportunity to perform a longer run of the show. 

An earlier version was filmed in 2021 during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. That period was challenging for artists. Most theaters were closed and not producing shows, making it one of the few theatrical endeavors I could have at the time. The filming experience is etched in my memory, especially the strict protocols we followed, wearing masks, and maintaining social distancing, all while performing and filming.  I owe a great deal to Nicolette, the creator of this piece, who invited me into the collaborative process and encouraged my creative input.

What I find particularly profound about this production is its commitment to addressing the complex and often challenging conversations surrounding race in America. It provides a platform for us to share our personal stories and delve into how our backgrounds and racial identities shape our lives and interactions. The way Nicolette facilitates this discourse allows us to examine the nuances of race and its profound influence on us. 

The second version of this work was performed on the Beltline in Atlanta in the spring of 2022. We had a live and receptive audience on the Beltline for this production.

This November's production will be an immersive experience at the 7 Stages theater that continues to unpack what it means to be multi-racial in America, drawing from Nicolette Emmanuel's unique heritage in the Lumbee tribe of North Carolina and other artists' experiences. With movement, music, and personal testimonies, the production confronts the persistent question, "What are you?" By weaving together the voices and experiences of the performers, the experience shines a light on our distinctive struggles and the inherent beauty in their identities. I genuinely look forward to the interactive experience of performing this piece live. There's something magical about connecting with a live theater audience. It's not just about storytelling; it's about fostering a shared experience. Additionally, I am excited to explore some musical elements within the production, which present new artistic challenges for me. 

You can find tickets and more information about the show here.

 http://7stages.vbotickets.com/event/what_are_you/140155 

I find great joy in the work of hospital clowning, especially because of the wonderful support we receive from the hospital staff, including the doctors, nurses, and other medical professionals. It's heartwarming to see the smiles on their faces when we arrive, and it's even more fulfilling when they join us in our activities, such as singing and playing music. In a previous post (link here), I shared about the time Dr. Levine joined us in singing a lullaby to the patients in the NICU.

During my recent visit to the hospital, I was delighted to encounter Dr. Levine once again, this time wearing a bowtie similar to mine. We both looked rather dapper. dr. tiny and I  took a moment to capture the memory with a photo by dr. tiny in the NICU.

On the same day, we also had the pleasure of interacting with a group of young interns who were training to become doctors. They were under the guidance of a seasoned doctor who is a big supporter of our work. This experienced doctor always encourages us to engage with her interns, and after seeing us, she insisted that we entertain her interns. I took the opportunity to amuse the interns with a card trick disguised as a vision test. The trick is designed to make the person taking the test see the card I want them to see rather than the card they expect to see. One of the interns was thrilled to pass the test, while her peers could not. As we left the floor, the interns and the doctor were sharing laughter about the trick. Dr. Tiny and I then proceeded to visit another unit.

Later in the day, we returned to the 5th floor and again encountered the same group of interns. I discreetly handed the cards from the trick to the young intern who had completed it earlier. I showed her how the trick worked, and she looked at me, saying, "Oh, so that's how you did that." She quickly attempted to return the cards to me, but dr. tiny and I insisted that she keep them for herself. She smiled at me and glanced around to ensure her colleagues hadn't noticed. Now, she can perform the "test" on them herself.

 It's hard to believe that 25 years have passed since I first started doing this work as Squeeze the Clown. As I mark the beginning of my 25th year, I want to take a moment to think about my history as a hospital clown. 

I was excited to be hired by the Big Apple Circus and to be one of the original members of the Big Apple Circus Clown Care Unit in Atlanta. Michael Christensen of the Big Apple Circus created the modern idea of hospital clowning. I’m proud to have that connection to Michael and the BIg Apple Circus. As a new hire, I was one of eight members who traveled from Atlanta to New York for weeks of training in hospitals and studio rehearsals. These rehearsals were artistically inspiring, and the hospital work was emotionally challenging. I was drawn to using humor to lift spirits, and children's hospitals were new to me. At the time, I didn't realize the impact a clown could have in a setting like a hospital.  But I did know that I wanted to make people laugh. 

Hospitals can be scary places, especially for children. The sterile environment and the uncertainty can be overwhelming. Our role was to break through that fear with joy, a moment of levity, and a heartfelt connection. In this work, I discovered I could use many of the talents and skills I have developed. I could improv, play the ukulele or the accordion, juggle, or do magic tricks. Artistically, it was an open book to apply any of my skills to the work whenever I could.

Over the years, I've seen that hospital clowning is more than just making people laugh. It's about connection, empathy, and resilience. Every hospital room we walk into is different. Every patient, family member, and staff member we meet brings a unique energy and story. Our job is to tune in, find the rhythm of the room, and figure out how we can bring a little light into it. 

For my first 15 years in this work, I felt like I had found an artistic home. During this time, I enjoyed working with Karen McCarty and the other staff at Big Apple Circus Clown Care. Karen was an excellent mentor who challenged me by giving me more responsibilities in the organization and offering artistic challenges. 

I'm grateful to the patients' families and hospital staff. During my time at a hospital, Clown, I've seen firsthand how humor can be a bridge; I've seen humor make connections. Some of the most powerful moments have been quiet, where no words were needed. A simple gesture, a shared giggle, or a presence can make a difference. This work has taught me how to listen deeply, see beyond illness, and find joy in even the darkest moments.

The past 25 years has also had its share of difficulties for me. Several years ago, the Atlanta Clown team and I took a leap of faith and created a new company called Humorology Atlanta. The goal was to continue hospital work and expand the reach beyond the confines of traditional hospital settings and into other communities. Despite our best efforts, the project did not achieve the success we had hoped for. It's tough to see something you've worked to create fail. In hindsight, the experience taught me lessons about resilience, adaptability, and the importance of staying true to the core mission.

As I mark 25 years as a hospital clown, I am grateful. I am grateful for the patients who have allowed me into their lives, the families who have trusted me with their most vulnerable moments, and the hospital staff who have welcomed me as part of their care teams. I've laughed with children and cried with parents. I've also enjoyed working with a wonderfully talented group of clown artists. One of the best joys of doing this work is knowing that you had partners working with you who are gifted and committed to this work. It has been such a pleasure to work with excellent clown partners.

I'm starting my 25th year, and we have a bright future. The Atlanta team is now part of the Laughter League, and I'm excited about the opportunities we have with them.

As I move into the next phase of my journey, I'm excited to continue exploring the intersections of humor and healing. I'll keep learning, adapting, and growing as a performer and as a person. 

Twenty-five years and counting,

Over the past few weeks, I've enjoyed entertaining audiences at various libraries and camps. I really enjoy doing these shows. I'm eagerly anticipating my upcoming hospital clowning performances in Columbus this autumn. In the meantime, I've been keeping busy with shows at camps and libraries this summer.

I do some comedy, music, and juggling during my summer show. It's the skills I've learned mixed with some basic performing skills.  While I'm doing all of this, I also take time to talk about some of the artists who have inspired me. While the list of those who have inspired me is long, for these shows, I focus on three artists:  Bert Williams, the Mills Brothers, and Josephine Baker. These performers were all Black artists who were internationally renowned when they were in their prime.   I love to share this information with audiences, especially when I have an audience of children. I focus on basic information about who they were, what makes them matter in history, and some personal antidotes about their lives.  While I don't expect them to remember everything, I believe providing them with some historical context is essential.  I want to introduce these people by their names so that maybe, at some point, they'll be familiar with them if they ever hear them again. There's no quiz at the end of my show, but it's helpful to introduce these performers and their contributions.

When I discuss these performers, I focus on their careers and successes. I also make a point of not overlooking the racism they faced in their careers, highlighting their individual stories of overcoming the instances of racism they had to deal with during the Jim Crow era in the United States.

During one of my recent camp shows, I shared an image of Josephine Baker with the kids in the show.  As I talked about her life story and the challenges she encountered due to racism, a young African American boy raised his hand with a curious expression on his face. I had a moment of anticipation as I wondered what he wanted to say. These instances often occur in shows where I anticipate whether a child's comment will be relevant to the discussion or if it will veer off course, prompting me to steer the conversation back to the topic of Josephine Baker. 

He had an earnest look as though he was pondering something very significant. I could sense that he was on the verge of saying something. He really wanted to express himself. So... I stopped talking and paused for a moment. Then, I  asked him if you had a question. He slowly put down his hand,  then paused for a second, searching for the right words. Then he asked, "Wasn't she a spy during World War II?" 

His question stopped me in my tracks.

I had only been talking about her for about a minute. I had just mentioned that she was from St. Louis, started her career as a dancer, and later moved to France due to the discrimination she faced in the United States. My next comment was going to be about her activities as a spy for the French government against the Nazis during World War II. However, before I could say another word, a 10-year-old boy eagerly raised his hand, and he beat me to that point.

"Yes", I said, "you are correct. Josephine Baker did do some spying for the French government against the Nazis during World War II.

I've added this boy to the list of people who inspire me.

My clown weekend in Montreal ended with the North American Federation of Healthcare Clowning Organizations' (NAFCHO) Meeting of the Noses Conference in late April. This meeting is the fourth NAFCHO Meeting of the Noses conferences. 

These conferences have grown to have special meetings for me. Spending time with folks working in the same specialized small industry is nice. I've met and known many of these people online over the past several years, so it's especially cool to get to see those people in real life finally. 

This conference was unique because I participated in a panel discussion on the first day. 

Also on the panel were

• Melanie Raymond, artist, Dr Clown Foundation, Montreal

• Pedro Fabiao, artist, clown trainer, Portugal

• Amrita Kaur Dhaliwal, clown artist, medical clowning, and educator with USC and The Idiot Workshop

• Vanessa Rigaux, artist, Artistic-Director of Montreal Clown Festival

Earlier that week, I took a three-day workshop taught by Pedro. Melanie was one of the other artists taking that class. I met Vanessa several days earlier at the Montreal clown festival. I know Amrita from Clowns Without Borders's Board of Directors. 

The topic for the panel was  "How is a clowning agent of social change? Should that be the role of the clown? How can clowns help society? 

I thought about this topic a lot, and I felt some extra pressure because I was expected to comment on it. Clowns can be agents of social change, and our organizations should play a role in that. That said, during the panel, I focused on how difficult change can be. 

So much of our society is built upon structures that have been around for hundreds of years, and in my experience, it's challenging to change these structures.  It takes labor to work on making some of these social changes. I focused on the social changes and the effects of our work with  Clowns Without Borders. I should also mention that Amrita, who serves on the board of Clowns Without Borders, was on the panel, too. I see our clown work not only as bringing laughter and joy but also as an example of how this change can have a positive social aspect. 

 So, I talked about how Clowns Without Borders intentionally works with local organizations and local artists who collaborate with us in our shows and presentations. By doing this, we can gain a window into the needs of the areas, cultures, and regions we serve. 

To make that point, I gave an example of how working with local artists can help us serve our audience better when we perform.  I remembered my most recent CWB tour of Turkey in 2023. One of the clowns in the show, Andres, finished his yo-yo routine by having his pants "accidentally "fall to his feet. This is funny for many audiences. However, it would not be appropriate in some religious and conservative areas. This dynamic came up early when the team rehearsed and performed our first few shows. To address the situation, we relied on our Turkish artistic partners, led by Güray Dinçol, to let us know when it would and would not be appropriate for Andres to drop his pants. At some shows, our audiences were organized by religious and conservative people. In those instances, Güray told Andres not to drop his pants. In the other camps where Güray felt the pants drop would be funny, he told Andreas that he could drop his pants. We relied on the local artists to help us manage the cultural and religious standards. It was only possible because the tour was organized to have the Turkish artist with us to help us both perform and to guide us this way.

After the panel discussion on the first day, I could enjoy the other workshops and classes at the conference. 

Some of the highlights were the class by Selena McMahon

"The Extra-Ordinary". It was about finding ways to keep your clown work consistent and dealing with distractions that can take you away from your focus as a performer.  This topic arose on my next work day with Ron Anglin when I returned to Georgia. The approach she used helped both of us do better work. 

I also had a blast attending Maxime Larose's slapstick workshop. This class was encouraging because it reminded me of some of the slapstick elements I can add to my work. Doyle Ott led an excellent workshop called “Beyond Bubbles and Lullabies”, which encouraged me to find new ways of interacting with younger children, especially ways of exploring the different senses that young children have and how they use them to interact with the world.

In Jon Luongo's workshop, "The Delight of Loose Parts," we explored the idea of turning hospital equipment into tools and toys for clowns.

On the last day of the conference and my last day in Montreal for the week, I finally had the opportunity to do my presentation/workshop on social justice. This presentation focused on my work at Emory University as an Arts and Social Justice Fellow. For the fellowship, I was partnered with Dr. Khaalisha Ajala, an emergency room doctor at Emory University and a professor at Emory University School of Medicine. The class we did together focused on narrative medicine. Narrative medicine is a medical approach that focuses on the patient's story. For the presentation, I shared the parallels between narrative medicine and the hospital clowning work I've done since 2000. I also touched on some of the social justice work I was involved in with other clowns as part of the Drive Forward team and the  Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion work the Laughter League is doing.

I was struck by how eager many people were to address social justice issues in their work. Several people shared some of the problems, difficulties, and successes that they have had with their programs. Each location has its own set of issues to address. I wasn't able to provide many answers for the specific situations. However, I hope they can be better equipped to work with them by talking more openly about these issues.

That day, I finished my day at the conference. I was glad to be able to attend the NAFCHO conference. I've been to all of the previous meetings dating back to 2018. The first Meeting of the Noses happened in Dallas. This meeting brought about the creation of NAFCHO, the North American Federation of Healthcare Clowning Organizations. Since then, there was another meeting in 2019 in Atlanta and 2020 in January in Dallas. During Covid, there were several virtual meetings of the noses. I've been able to participate in all of them, and this meeting in Montreal was the best of all of them thus far. 

I had a blast in Montreal that week. You can read more about Pedro's workshop I took earlier here and the Montreal Clown Festival, which happened earlier during the week, here.

Video clip #1 from the panel discussion recorded by Lori Tolentino

Video clip #2 from the panel discussion recorded by Lori Tolentino

We had the address, but somehow, we misread the signs on the street. After walking through the streets of Montreal, we finally found the right address. We had missed it once or twice before. We walked right by without recognizing that this was the address where the show was. That said, after we found the right address. We opened the door and saw a narrow staircase. Just as we reached the top of the stairs, I looked around the room.  There were a few sofas, a ticket booth, and several people milling around before the show started. Then, I gazed across the room and caught the eyes of a woman sitting at a table; she looked at me and loudly said, "Meredith!"  The woman was Vanessa Rigaux from the Montreal Clown Festival. After that, we knew we were in the right place. Gina and I made ourselves at home before the show.

The venue for the first night of the clown festival brought back memories of a performance space where I used to do a lot of improv years ago. It was a small and intimate room, just the right size for a good audience, but still small enough to create a sense of intimacy and allow for clear visibility of each audience member.

The first show had an interesting concept. During the afternoon workshop, each artist brought material they wanted to develop and spent time working on ideas for a performance that evening. This quick turnaround from concept to performance was refreshing. Sometimes, overthinking can lead to the loss of good ideas. In contrast, this process required artists to make and execute quick decisions. I thoroughly enjoyed the show. I had just finished several days of workshops with Pedro, and the artistic ideas we had discussed were fresh in my mind. This performance was an experiment and an opportunity for artists to present their ideas to an audience.

Most of the other shows for the clown festival were at Le Gesù, around the corner from the Place des Arts in Montreal. This location was the central hub of the festival. It had two performance venues. The first was a bigger theatrical space, big enough to seat the larger audiences in these shows. The second space was a smaller venue appropriate for the shows requiring a more intimate feeling.

The first performance in the larger venue was called "The Big, Big Deal Clown Festival Gala Cabaret". The show was directed by Krin Haglund and featured various acts. Jamie Adkins delivered an exceptional ladder routine, while Amrita Kaur Dhaliwal led the audience in a discussion on love. Moche Cohen showcased the world's beauty through a flower, and Joel Baker amazed the audience with his chair-balancing act alongside his child. One of the most memorable parts of the show was seeing Emily Jeffers perform as Bitty the Bat, flying across the stage.

I later saw Amrita again in her show "Driving Around." The show took place in a smaller, more intimate space that was perfectly suited to the performance. When I entered the space, Amrita was already on stage, in character, reading a newspaper with a "Happy Birthday" banner behind her. Throughout the show, the audience got to know her character better. She even learned the names of almost everyone watching the show. Then, she took us on a journey exploring aging, gentrification, identity, and loneliness. Amrita used me as one of her "volunteers" during the show.

It was a wonderful afternoon when I finally met Amrita in person after knowing her for about four years online. We both joined the board of Clowns Without Borders within a few months of each other, and since then, we have only interacted through online Zoom meetings. It was nice to meet her in real life. A few days later, we were both part of a panel discussion at the Meeting of the Noses conference, and I plan to write more about that in my next blog post. After the show, Amrita held a question-and-answer session about how the show was developed and changed over time. These conversations were delightful because they gave me insight into how these shows evolve.

Numerous shows were presented throughout the festival. Some took place at the main venue, while others were dispersed throughout the Place des Arts in Montreal. These different shows showcased various aspects of clowning. Some performances featured highly skilled acrobats and jugglers, while others focused on clown characters and encouraged audience participation.

One of the festival's highlights was a show featuring Avner Eisenberg, Jamie Adkins, and the absurd and eccentric performance duo Laurette and Arlette. Throughout the evening, each performer had numerous sets in the show, displaying top-notch clowning with their unique approaches. Avner performed some of his classic routines, including a napkin-eating routine, which is always a pleasure to see. Jamie returned to the stage to perform innovative pieces involving chairs and juggling props. Lastly, Laurette and Arlette put on a wonderful dual piece that involved a lot of character work while exploring elements of absurdity.

 I love seeing the different varieties of clowning. Some involve primarily character work with a lot of audience participation, while others use props and involve gangs. Other types of clowning require high skills in acrobatics, juggling, and magic manipulations. After the show, there was a question-and-answer session during which Avner shared his thoughts about clowning. To sum up, he believes that the clown is always curious. I resonate with this definition the most. Clowns work through life's difficulties to maintain curiosity and find more meaning and understanding in our world.

Thanks to everyone at the Montreal Clown Festival.  I had a great time there and I hope to return to future festivals.