"It's Clifford!"
"Hey, look, it's Clifford!" A dad pointed while his three-year-old stared off into space.
"Don't you want to take a picture with Clifford, the Big Red Dog?" My co-worker asked a child fiercely clutching his mother's legs.
As Clifford the Big Red Dog, I had a perpetual grin stretched across my face, but inside the suit, I squinted as sweat poured into my eyes. Even though it was only 70 degrees out, I essentially wore a giant jumpsuit, plus an enormous, heavy head on my shoulders. I felt sweat gather under my arms and along my back. I had two small eyeholes that were just tiny dots, set so far above my eyesight, that I may as well have been blind. Every so often, I caught a glimpse of a child's shrieking face or a parent's shin, or ceiling of the small tent I was in.