Polished Public Speaker

In today's student-planned 30-minute Friday afternoon activity, I was randomly assigned the topic "Adam and Eve" as the subject for a one-minute impromptu speech. My brain was not fully engaged and my effort was totally uninspired. I mumbled and stumbled and said nothing at all and stopped in relief in mid-sentence when the timer went off.

After I got back to my seat, Tim and David, who planned the event, were both very pleased with my performance. "Mrs. I, you're the champion!"

"What do you mean?" I asked, in lackluster disbelief."

"We're counting the 'ums' and you had eleven! Don't tell Mr. Schrock, though. No one's supposed to know what we're doing."

For the remaining speeches, I couldn't help noticing every "um," which Tim also dutifully noted with a mark on his paper. (I also noticed "like" and "and," but Tim seemed to take scant notice.)

Mr. Schrock spoke wisely and well on "music and singing," with a disappointing scarcity of "ums." John got a real charge out of his subject: "electricity." Heidi talked in a steady flow of words about "boys," specifically the two who dreamed up the idea of having everyone give a one-minute speech on random subjects such as "boys." Seth talked on "sewing" and Elaine on "pasta." (Her mom had to start breaking up the spaghetti in order to break up the "inhaling" contests, which made spaghetti a lot less fun.) To everyone's great amusement, the other Tim and Kevin did as they were instructed: "If you can't think of anything to say, you have to stay up there and move your mouth till the minute is up."

To their credit, everyone who drew "Britney Spears" asked for relief before they started because they knew nothing about her. (Now that one I could have talked about--nothing good, but I could have at least listed what the popular press has reported about her. I probably ought to be ashamed.)

The final tally had the girls uttering an average of more than five "ums" for every one-minute speech. The boys had one-point-something. The top three scorers were announced and applauded--all girls, with me leading the pack. It was not a proud moment, but I gamely raised my hand--too lazy to take a bow--when my name was read.

In the flurry of everyone doing their cleaning projects later, I overheard Tim's delighted voice from the kitchen: "What was so funny was that Mrs. I had more than anyone else, and she's a polished public speaker." Hearing that, it was my turn to be amused. First, the "compliment" was altogether astonishing, and I am undeserving of it. That made me laugh with affection for my generous students. Also, I was amused because I know very well that Tim is not an accomplished evaluator of the "polish-level" of public speakers. So my ego can not justifiably gain any girth from the kind remark. The context provides a perfect mix of warm fuzzy feelings and cold, clear reality.

And please, if, like, someone hears me, um, go on and on meaninglessly about Adam and Eve, just put me out of my misery. If you will do that, I'll be happy to fore go my championship status and the subsequent accolades. Anonymous onlooker is a role that suits me just fine, thank you very much.