The Happy Clown

								

came the cowboys and spacemen, carryovers for any happy kiddies with
insomnia. For really meaty programs one had to stay up past ten.
Then the spectaculars began, and the quiz shows, and the boxing and
wrestling.
Steven did not like the Happy Clown or the Jolly Kitten or the
Dancing Dogsie. Sometimes he began to grow interested in the cowboys
or spacemen, but when they stopped in the middle of an adventure to
talk about how they could not possibly rope the steers or shoot the
asteroids without a good breakfast of Cornsies and Choko-Milko, which
everybody ate, just everybody, Steven climbed out of bed and slept on
the floor.
Steven did not like the records or the talking books, and when he went
to kiddie-garden he viewed the televised lessons with a cold eye. For
some reason which he could not have explained, he wanted to learn to
read, but they would not teach him till he was seven, and so he taught
himself, from the letters on the jarsies. But then there was nothing
to read except the newspapers and the magazines, which he puzzled over
patiently, getting most of the words right after a while. The many
advertisements were easiest; they used pictures and the simplest of
language.
His parents thought it was very cunning of him to look at the printing
like that, so wisely, as if he could read it! He said once to Harriet,
"I can read it," but she said, "Oh, Stevie, you're teasing Mumsie!"
and looked so frightened at this fresh peculiarity that the child said
gravely, "Yes, teasing." He wished he had a silent book. He knew there
were such things, but there were none at home. There were few silent
books anywhere. There were none in kiddie-garden.
Steven was not happy in kiddie-garden. The enthusiasm the other kiddies
showed for the lessons appalled him. The kiddies themselves appalled
him. They joined so passionately in the group play, clutching each
other with their hot moist hands, panting and grinning into each
others' faces. They were always clutching and panting and grinning, in
large noisy groups, with large community smiles. They confused him; he
could not tell them apart. Steven retired to a corner and turned his
back, and when they clutched and panted and grinned at him he hit them.
The kiddie-garden monitor had to report of him to his unhappy parents
that he was uncooperative and anti-social. He would not merge with
the group, he would not acquire the proper attitudes for successful
community living, he would not adjust. Most shocking of all, when the
lesson about the birdsies and beesies was telecast, he not only refused
to participate in the ensuing period of group experimentation, but lost
color and disgraced himself by being sick in his corner. It was a
painful interview. At the end of it the monitor recommended the clinic.
Richard appreciated her delicacy. The clinic would be less expensive
than private psychiatry, and after all, the manager of a supermarket