It’s the dreaded week for me. Teenager, high school-er awkward turtle. The week that I have to present to my classes. Yes. . . CLASSES. As in more than one. (dun Dun DUHHHHN) To be more precise, three in one week, as far as I know. But who knows? One of my teachers may decide to spring another public speaking assignment on us because, hey, THEY’RE FUN RIGHT? (Note: the sarcasm)
I may have been a little misleading when I typed ‘public speaking’ up ^there, because it’s not all speaking. I have to sing in my English class. Yeah, SING, with my guitar and my friend. We have to sing a song THAT WE WROTE. And because we are cool cats, we decided to not just take the easy route and rewrite the lyrics to a preexisting song, NOOOOO, we’re too talented for that.
We wrote our very own song, with our very own chords and melody. Naturally, I think it sucks, but it was written based on a novel, so there isn’t much wiggle room. Plus, our mutual friend told us it was awesome, so it could just be my super self consciousness, because I always think songs that I write suck.
“So kid, what else do you have to present?” you ask. A power-point presentation about the Gold Rush (I’m not too worried about that one, all of the work is already done) and POETRY! EVERY ONES FAVORITE. DON’T YOU JUST FREAKING LOVE POETRY?! Because I don’t. Well I do, I mean, I love it when I’m alone in my bedroom looking for a little inspiration and just reading it for fun. And when I read poems out loud in my bedroom to my inanimate stuffed animals, I could be a freaking Oscar-winning actress. Yeah, I’m that good. But when you throw me in front of a group of my peers, looking at me with those judging eyes,
waiting for me to stutter so that they can hold onto it and NEVER LET ME FORGET IT, I lose my talents and confidence. I am no longer a professional actress, I turn into a four year old trying to read off of cue cards with a speech impediment.
In case you’re thinking “Oh, they’re not going to make fun of you for stuttering,” THINK AGAIN! My friend stuttered last year when giving a presentation on Hercules, and because our friends are awesome friends and they love him so much, every single time we hear we have to present in front of the class, they look at him and say “Heh-Heh-Hercules!”
So here I am, in my room, writing my poem over and over again to guarantee total memory, saying it to my walls, and losing my mind because I know that even if I say it flawlessly today, then tomorrow I will still just look like an idiot in front of my class. You know, class, those people I have to spend the next THREE YEARS of my life with.
My history teacher told me ‘Public speaking is statistically the greatest fear of Americans. . . second greatest fear is death!’ I totally understand anyone who lists public speaking under death, because right now, I’d prefer death to public speaking. Then my English teacher told me that it was the second greatest fear next to death. I don’t know which teacher to believe and I really don’t care enough to look it up, but I am willing to bet that about 39% of statistics are made up on the spot and have no credible research.
Here’s hoping I don’t pass out in front of my class.