Now, almost 14 years later, I couldn’t believe what I was about to do.

My fingers were shaking as I struggled with the zipper. Finally, my unsteady hands held the overly-large globe above my head and slowly put it on.

“You ready?” asked the supervisor.

I nodded, the butterflies in my stomach threatening to fly out. I stepped outside into the heat, and a drop of sweat immediately poked its head through the five layers of deodorant I had put on.

All of the children gathered on the sidewalk, happily watching the many flashing instruments stride by, blasting powerful tunes into their small ears.

But one child’s tiny smile disappeared as I appeared from behind the door.

I slowly walked up to him, watching as his face grew more and more frightened. My hands started shaking again, I reached into my basket and held a pink plastic egg out to him.

I heard someone say, “Would you like an Easter egg?”

As the child yelled at the top of his lungs for his mother, I screamed even louder, flung off the mask, and ran.