The Greatest Speeches Never Heard

Martin Luther King

Winston Churchill

John Fitzgerald Kennedy

Abraham Lincoln

Franklin Delano Roosevelt

These great men were known for their dynamic oratory. Their words were used to rouse their countrymen to fight or to urge them to find peace. There’s no doubt they each had a speechwriter, or even a team thereof, to help craft their words, but in the end their ability to inspire change came in equal parts from the written words and in their respective abilities to deliver them with the appropriate gravitas, fervor, and sincerity.

I would humbly submit to you that some of the world’s greatest speeches, though, have been delivered by me. My audience generally was sparse. Occasionally Natasha, the cat of my teenaged years, sat listening attentively to my various soliloquies. More often than not I implored or entertained, sometimes even thrilled, an audience made up of stuffed animals and Barbie dolls. They never exactly applauded my efforts, but I could see the approval gleaming in their eyes.

And my repertoire was immense. One day I’d speak on the importance of the civil rights movement, begging my audience to remember that we are all equal in the sight of God. Another day I’d offer the most heartfelt Oscar acceptance speech ever heard, sometimes bringing myself to tears. The orchestra never played me off stage.

Saving endangered species from extinction and conserving resources were hot topics. I educated my audiences on the importance of family planning, so concerned was I with the dangers of overpopulation. Everything was important. No subject was off limits.

There were very few times in my young life that I actually gave a speech in front of real people, and sadly, my oratory abilities didn’t carry over from my bedroom to the auditorium. In front of real live people I lost my nerve and generally spoke dispassionately and sometimes nonsensically.

As a candidate for our junior high student council I gave a lackluster speech whilst clinging desperately to the podium on the auditorium stage. I believe I barely spoke above a whisper as I promised to address the dress code if elected. Needless to say, I didn’t win. An eighth grade teacher did tell me I looked very professional in my white dress. “Not many people can wear that color,” she said. Heh.

I wanted to tell her, “Lady, I’ve got a lot of admirers.” They just happened to be stuffed or plastic.

As a teacher I guess I did finally get my live audiences. Occasionally those sweet elementary or middle school students seemed mesmerized by my impassioned lesson delivery. Or maybe they just needed to hear, “Yes, you will be tested over this!”

Peace, people.

The Assignment

Once upon a time I was a teacher. I wasn’t a great teacher, nor was I an awful one. I loved being with young people all day long, but I am a woman of little patience, and that is not a good thing when working with active children.

While I taught students in grades three through seven at various times in my career, by far my favorite years were those I spent teaching English to middle schoolers. I know what you’re thinking, “How’d someone with Leslie’s blatant disregard for the rules of grammar ever teach English?”

Shucks, y’all. I had a teaching manual. Duh. Seriously, though, before I began blogging I was much more cognizant of, and adherent to, those pesky rules. Now it’s “Rules, Shmules” most days. But this post really isn’t about me. Gasp!

One of the first assignments I gave as a seventh grade English teacher was for students to write about something important that had happened in their lives. It could be something funny or frightening, happy, or sad. I’m not even sure I placed a word count requirement on this paper, I just wanted to get to know the students better and to get a feel for their individual writing abilities.

I was shocked and pleased that those seventh graders went immediately to work, and after I’d read their rough drafts I knew that the students who wanted to share their stories with their classmates should have the opportunity to do so. Much of what they’d handed in was so honest that it had to be worth more than just a grade.

After making some editing and proofreading suggestions on each of the ninety or so papers (I taught four sections of English), I handed back the papers and told my students how proud I was to have them in my class, and that once they’d written their final copy I’d open up the floor for anyone who chose to share.

Now seventh graders are an interesting lot. I figured I’d have perhaps twenty percent of each class volunteer to read their papers. Instead, every single student shared their stories. And what an experience that became! I’m sure we spent way too much time on this activity, but my students and I bonded over these stories.

One athletic young man had us all in stitches as he told of the time he and his buddies got into his older sister’s closet and put on various pieces of her clothing, including tutus and swimsuits. and wore them to dinner, much to the horror of his sister and the amusement of his parents.

A shy young woman told of being chased by a vicious dog while riding her bike and being rescued by another dog at the last minute! By the end of the story her classmates were on the edges of their seats, cheering her on.

The story I remember having the most impact, though, was the story a quiet young man told about his mother’s illness. He and his father and sister were at the hospital visiting his mom who had been diagnosed with cancer. As the boy walked down the hospital hallway, he turned to his sister and asked, “Is Mom going to die?”

His sister became angry and told him that he just killed their mom because it’s bad luck to mention dying in the hospital. Their mother did die later that week, and the child blamed himself. The class sat silently when he finished, many were in tears. I was in tears, and I’d read the story.

The love that then surrounded that young man was amazing. Other students made a point to tell him he wasn’t to blame for his mom’s death. He knew that deep down, but hearing those words from his peers seemed to turn a light on in this child. I watched him blossom that year.

When we finished sharing, more than one child thanked me for allowing them to write about themselves. While I’d just been trying to help myself get a feel for their abilities, I got a good deal more. Extras like that are what make the profession unlike any other.

Peace, people.

And Just What Do YOU Do?

 
I saw this meme on Facebook today and had to giggle. For one thing, it’s the kind of offhand remark I’m inclined to make and then get embarrassed by. Often my mouth and my brain operate from completely different game plans.

But this meme also reminded me of a time during Parent/Teacher conferences back when I was teaching seventh grade. We taught in teams of four teachers: math, social studies, science, and English. And when conference time rolled around we met with parents as a team. 

I greatly enjoyed this team concept approach because we learned much more about our students and their parents than we might have otherwise. Sometimes we might have learned a bit too much.

We were chatting with one parent and one of my co-teachers kept saying, “I feel like I should know you. You look so familiar.”

Finally the parent said, “You must recognize me from work.”

“I’m sure that’s it,” replied the teacher. “Where do you work?”

“At the XXX Toy Box on Elm,” said the parent.

My good Christian co-worker went bright red and completely silent. We never let her live that down.

Peace, people!