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My life as a public speaker began at the tender young age of three, when it was deemed appropriate for me to recite the 23rd Psalm as part of a radio broadcast of our church's evening service. I knew the Psalm by heart and had recited it on many occassions for family and friends. It was assumed I would do so that evening and fill my father's heart with even more pride for his three year old daughter.
I went on stage, looked around at the sea of faces and - in what I feel was unusual insight for one so young- proclaimed, " I can say it better at home." I did not add more pride to my father's heart but,instead, gave him a story to tell at every family gathering since that time.
My next challenge in public speaking was at Christmas time in the 7th grade. I could recite The Night Before Christmas, and my English teacher decided I should dress in a long gown and a nightcap and perform for each 7th grade class. When I agreed to do so, I had no idea how uncomfortable 7th grade boys could make 7th grade girls feel - and for how long. My Daddy made me feel a little better by telling me how proud he was that I did it in spite of the teasing. He said he would like to see any of those boys get dressed in that kind of outfit and get up and speak. He said he would bet none of them even knew The Night Before Christmas.
At the end of 8th grade, I was selected to give a graduation speech. I don't remember any of the speech except the title - Cornerstones. I do remember how excited I was. My grandparents were in town. My aunts, uncles and cousins were there. I had another chance to bring pride to my father's heart.
I sat on stage while the class president welcomed everyone and led us in both pledge and prayer. I waited while the Principal gave a speech and while the chorus sang. Then, the Assistant Principal introduced me. My moment of glory had come. I was the only one of 148 students selected to give a speech. I was going to shine!
As I stood to make my way to the podium, my English teacher came on stage and whispered, "You're going to have to yell, cause the microphone just broke." Everyone told me later that I did a good job. My Daddy said how proud he was. I don't remember anything except what a long walk it was from my chair to the microphone. I still can't remember the speech. I do,though, remember the title - and the smile on my Daddy's face.
I tried from time to time to expand my public speaking career. I made other speeches at various functions - though I am glad no one except my parents knew I could recite The Owl and the Pussycat when I was five years old. In time, I found other ways to make my Daddy proud- ways that didn't lead to an overwhelming urge to say, " I can say it better at home!"
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