Everyone knows the scene: the child-friendly event at the Zoo, cotton candy, soda pop, animal costumes walking around, greeting the excited small children. Ever wonder who’s inside that cute bear costume?

Well now I have the answer. They are teenaged Girl Scouts. On numerous occasions my Girl Scout troop drove up to the San Francisco Zoo and donned the restraining costumes of polar bears, penguins, giraffes, and lions.

I’ve never experienced anything like this. First I collect the eccentric garb, complete with feet, gloves, body suit, and, last but not least, imposing, clumsy head. I waddle out to the children infected area and are instantly swarmed by dozens of children, ranging from six months to fourteen. I hug, I high-five, I shake hands, I pose for pictures in awkward positions, I get knocked down, I pick up kids, I get kissed on the nose.

Small kids run away in terror, older ones search the head looking for the person who lurks inside. One child followed me half way across the zoo, the parents’ futile attempts (“Emilio, let’s go see the monkeys!”) going to waste.

After the thirty-minute shift I return to the moldy, dirty changing room and brush the piece of hair that’s been in my face since the minute I put on the head away. My skin is sweaty, my back is cramping, my arm hurts from waving so much, and I desperately need something to drink.

So why do this? Why go through the sweat and the pain of acting like a giant friendly polar bear? The children make the experience. That one child who at first was too scared and then leaped into my arms or the one little girl who stood staring at me for a full five minutes. The kids make me want to stay out and play longer, no matter how much my nose itches.

And when it’s all over, that’s what I remember. I remember their amazement and it conjures up my own childhood memories. They make me a child again.