For everyone Make ’em laugh, make ’em laugh…
They’ll go to any lengths to entertain us. From the bald-headed buffoons of Ancient Greece, to the court jesters of the Middle Ages, to Grimaldi in the early 1800s, clowns have been skipping, flipping and tripping over themselves for millennia, purely for our amusement. And unless you suffer from coulrophobia (a fear of clowns), you’ll have a soft spot for at least one of them.
They’re also commonly found in our classrooms. Even without face paint or a red nose, you know exactly who they are. They’re the buffoons you’ve come to know and love – and loathe and bemoan and (occasionally) love again. The jesters who take it upon themselves to entertain the class, free of charge, with wisecracks, pranks, and silly noises.
Classroom clowns have their own long history. In fact, the first significant study into their behaviour was conducted in 1976, by American researchers Damico and Purkey, who aimed to explore “the class clown phenomenon among middle-school students”. Their findings won’t surprise you: class clowns were mostly male (only one in nine was female), assertive, and attention-seeking. They saw themselves as leaders, giving a voice to their hard-done-by classmates. The study also concluded that, generally, there are two types of class clowns: good and bad.
But us teachers already know this. On the one hand, there are the clowns who are funny, smart, creative, and possess excellent comic timing. They understand the nature of a joke, they’re never too inappropriate, and they know when to toe the line. They don’t just aim to entertain their peers, but – importantly – the teacher as well.
On the flip side, there are the not-so-great class clowns. Unfortunately, these jokers aim too low, often at other kids’ (and/or the teacher’s) expense. They think their role is to subvert and disrupt, and often confuse comic talent with volume. Less aspiring clown than troublemaker with a big head of hair.
Your clowns might be among the smartest kids in your class, even if they’re not the most academic.
So, what do we do with our loveable rogues – the bad and the good? How do we manage them in the classroom without breaking their funny bones? An obvious strategy is to out-funny them yourself. Assert your sovereignty in the comedy hierarchy! Disarm them with zingers then destroy them with well-timed puns.
Failing this, a quieter approach will sometimes work, with a private heart-to-heart that lets these bozos know their class-clowning skills are on the nose.
Alternatively, you can send them to actual clown school. Class Clowns, a competition run by the Melbourne International Comedy Festival, has a mentorship program for 14-to-18-year-olds that aims to “hone comedic talent, build self-esteem, confidence and resilience, and amplify the voices and perspectives of young people”.
After all, we don’t want to quash their spirit – not really. In fact, there’s much to be celebrated. A high correlation exists between humour and intelligence. Good jokes require proficiency with language, creativity, quick thinking, and empathy. Your clowns might be among the smartest kids in your class, even if not always the most academic.
More contemporary studies suggest that clowning serves a function, too. Some kids are seeking attention they don’t get at home. Some have realised it’s a way to gain popularity without being good-looking or sporty. For others, it’s a way of covering up their weaknesses or insecurities.
Actor Jim Carrey’s impressions would drive most of his teachers nuts, but in seventh grade Mrs Dervaitis allowed him to perform a comedy routine every afternoon if he’d behaved himself that day.
So, let’s channel Mrs Dervaitis and offer a bit of space – and guidance – to our class clowns. Humour can lighten the mood, aid social cohesion, and improve life satisfaction. That sounds like some pretty good therapy to me.
