The Last Bozo

I've spent enough time sufficiently embarrassing my good friend, Big G. It's time to get back to what I do best: embarrassing myself!

At the end of every school year, my high school holds a scholarship ceremony. All sorts of awards created by the school, members of the community, and military scholarships are handed out to the most deserving students. They reward those who have shown academic prowess, aided the community, or are willing to learn the art of war (can you guess which aforementioned group hands out those?).

Students receive an invitation in the mail if they've won something, but they never reveal what it is you've won until presentation time.

I wasn't really surprised when I got my notice in the mail that I'd won something. I finished high school with fine, if not quite stellar, academic marks and spent a lot of time doing volunteer work. No doubt my school was rewarding me for my fine work in and out of the classroom with a healthy scholarship to advance my soon-to-begin college career.

The ceremony was held a week before graduation in our school theater (or "theatre", if you're one of those pretentious people). Nothing too fancy or ostentatious, but I did get a new suit for it (my parents even forced me to wear a tie). My father flew up from San Francisco. This was a big deal for my household. They probably had higher expectations for this pending scholarship than I did.

So we sat and watched, with my friend Puma and his family adjacent to us, waiting for my moment to shine.

Puma was a two-time winner that night, and was a runner-up for a third that we know of. It was a scholarship we had both applied for (certain ones required an application sent in for consideration) and was given out to seven students, with the presenter saying three other applicants narrowly missed out. Puma and I never did figure out who the third unlucky fellow was, but we agreed he probably was indeed a "fellow" since all seven winners were women. Damn feminism! When will MEN ever break through the glass ceiling holding us down?!?!? Am I right, fellas? (This is called irony.)

The night wore on. Puma got his two scholarships. One of our classmates and former friends sat right in front us (a total nerd turned bro). He received about a dozen scholarships that night.

We were getting close to the end of the evening when my time finally came. It was an $850 scholarship left in the name of a former custodian named Teruzo (I'm sorry to report I no longer remember his last name). Teruzo had evidently become a familiar figure at the school back in the day; a character who everyone loved. So much so that everyone knew him as "Bozo."

As the presenter was going on describing the man behind the scholarship and its purpose, I thought to myself, "Oh no... an award honoring a janitor named 'Bozo?' This is going to be, isn't it?"

Sure enough, the recipient of the scholarship was announced as "Dylan Hoff!"

I was the winner of The Bozo Award.

Puma mercifully waited until after the ceremony was over and we had walked outside to start the taunting.

My father was the only person who seemed to get more enjoyment from this than Puma. I vacationed in California for much of the ensuing summer, and I found the entire Hoff family was well aware of my distinction by that point. I had cousins, aunts, and uncles calling me "Bozo" for about a year after this.

While my own relatives eventually forgot about it, I assure you Puma and his family have not. Making matters worse/funnier is that my school has not handed out any scholarships in "Bozo's" name since I won it. I am the last winner of The Bozo Award. The Last Bozo. A fact that Puma and his whole family find to be the funniest thing in the world.

But you know what? I can live with that.

I've spent my life cracking jokes and playing the fool - by accident and sometimes on purpose. I enjoy playing the fool. I can't fully describe why, but I'm happiest when others are feeling good. I've found my sense of humor is usually the best tool I have to make others smile. That's one of the reasons for this blog.

That's why I was actually pleased to win The Bozo Award. It earned me a lot of good-natured ribbing, but that's kind of the point. It felt like a recognition of years of hard-work put into my craft. Work that continues, as I attempt to maintain the mantle of The Last Bozo.

If nothing else, this is how I want people to remember me by. To remember the guy who could bring others joy.

Dylan Hoff: The Last Bozo