My private high school held a daily, secular chapel service in which teachers and coaches made announcements and students gave their yearly “chapel talk” on a subject of their choosing. Freshmen were exempt, but Sophomores were expected to deliver one speech of 4-7 minutes to their peers. The Junior talk went to 10 minutes. Senior talks were 15+. All to an audience of over 400 students and teachers!
As my Sophomore talk approaches, I am determined to make an impression. I really get into the project, reading a half-dozen Dave Barry books to absorb his tone and staying up late to write a 20-page first draft, which my English teacher helps me trim to the proper length. The talk is about my recent trip to Europe, so I choose a dozen snapshots and have slides printed, timing them to match my delivery. I rehearsed the talk until I almost had it memorized.
On the day of the talk, I was nervous but completely prepared.
Talks with slides always went last, so three students spoke ahead of me. One girl delivered a paean to her father, who, to hear her tell it, single-handedly overturned the Nazi regime while researching the cure for Polio in his spare time. I forget what the other two spoke about.
When it’s finally my turn, I take the podium, wait for my first slide to appear, and jump in. I’m watching my pace and clicking my slides on cue. I’m making eye contact. I’m even getting a few giggles out of the crowd. But they’re not laughing at the right parts. In fact, they don’t seem to be paying attention at all. They’re whispering to each other and shifting around in their seats.
I begin to panic. What’s going on here? Is there something on my face? Are my slides upside down? Is it lunchtime already?
All I know is that this talk is not going well. I put my head down and continue to plow through.
After another minute of agony, I hear a voice from the left side of the auditorium: “Meek uhh!” I stop talking and look around. It’s my English teacher. “SPEAK UP!” he repeats.
“Oh no! I’m that guy!” I thought. I’ve made fun of chapel talk mumblers dozens of times and now I’m King Mumbles.
I forced myself to slow down and speak up for the rest of the talk and, long story short, it KILLED. Their laughter was probably 90% from relief, but I like to think they appreciated the material as well. My Biology teacher approached me afterward with tears in her eyes and said, “I didn’t know you were FUNNY!”
I still feel a hint of embarrassment at the memory but mostly I’m grateful. Whenever I speak now, I can think, “Hey, it can’t be any worse than my first chapel talk.”
Luke Duncan
Minister of Communication & Strategy – BookFool.com
