Speech Maker

The speech seemed smooth. Success was the topic of the day, and in preparation I had thought, discussed, even dreamt success in the weeks leading up to now. I had come to some clear conclusions, but how to bring my audience to the same point?

As I began to speak, I lost focus, couldn’t keep my mind on the topic. I had no idea what I was saying. I just kept moving through my notes. Thank God I was organised enough to write them all out. It’s not the first time that’s happened to me when making a speech.

But it wasn’t the speaking itself that had me distracted. It was the boy.
The boy with the longish, louty hair slouching in the back row.
Those sitting around him didn’t share his disdain of hygiene- they were groomed, neat, prim.

But the scruffy one seemed to have influence over the others. He’d indicate something, and the others would act it out. Moving the row ahead slightly, so the girl sitting at the edge on her own fell off. Sitting so close to another student that the movement pinched their thighs, eyes widening in surprise and silent pain.

I was watching him, from my vantage point on stage. He was the instigator, the master mind. Where was I?
Oh yes- where does our idea of success come from? Does it entail more than achievement? Is it also the good opinion of others?

But this boy didn’t care. He was the instigator, the master mind- did I already say that?
He didn’t DO anything wrong. Never out of line. Very clever. Admirable, almost.

I looked to the class teacher, warning her with my mind- screaming out the warnings. He’s dangerous. Watch him.
She looked at me with a long, expressionless stare. Blank. Come to think of it, she’d looked that way since I began my speech. Rude.
I glared at her, taking note of her face. She wasn’t blinking. She looked deeply into the space between us. It was widening by the second. I wouldn’t be giving my precious time to these poor appreciators again.

We achieve a sense of success when others appreciate us- do you agree? There are some people whose appreciation, whose opinions are worth more to us than others. Can you think of those people in your life?

Was she even breathing? I snuck a peek at her- she’d turned her eyes to the floor. Movement was a good indication of life.

My eyes caught a slight shift in the louty boy’s posture. I saw him give off a silent order to the back of a student’s head, who was sitting in the middle of the group.
I paused to clear my throat, as my attention shifted wholly to that child-
I hadn’t noticed him chewing anything up to this point, but he began to blow out a bubble of gum. Would these children stop at nothing? It was a direct attack on my speech, I was sure.

The problem point when it comes to success is that it means different things to different people, and yet we try to use the same brush on everyone. What you consider to be success depends on what you consider to have value, or worth.

The bubble hadn’t popped yet- it kept getting bigger. And bigger- and changing colour, too. White to pink to red to blue- mirroring the guilty student’s face, I noticed with horror.

I shot a glare back to the teacher. She was, in my opinion, hopelessly unsuccessful at controlling her students. How could she allow…?
The teacher was looking at me this time, with a little smile, bobbing her head in agreement. Agreement with what? With me? Was she listening?
I began to distrust appearance.

The bubble had become disconcertingly huge, billowing above the seated students, covering them like a mother ship. It creaked as it stretched, tighter…
The boy at the back laughed behind his hand. His eyes caught mine, then skipped away, his smile lost in the instant.

K-boom!
The bubble burst in an ear-splitting snap. Mini bubbles poofed all over the room, and drifted slowly to the floor.
The noise rang in my ears- the students were applauding – unthinkable! Such behaviour- I would file a complaint, I would.
I… I had finished my speech.
Great. It was finally over.

The principal slowly mounted the steps, and the students stood as one, still applauding. Their eyes were clear and generally focussed on the stage, on me. The teacher smiled widely, still clapping. The principal approached and held out his hand.

That was a wonderful speech.