Eileen Cichello

The whole issue of public speaking is an intriguing one. The terror it strikes in the breasts of most of us....Why is that, I wonder?

I think clearly, write clearly, but get me in front of a roomful of people and my brain turns to jelly. Weird physical symptoms appear: knees knock, hands shake, blood pressure is probably off the charts and nausea ensues. I move into another dimension.

So why put myself through all this? Well, there are things I believe in passionately and want to be able to share with other people. Or someone who really matters to me is leaving our community and nobody else volunteers to say what needs to be said. Or there are times when I just can’t figure out a way to get out of it.

My efforts to overcome this terror have been sporadic. Back in the mid 1960s, an Adult Ed course on public speaking was offered at our local high school. I convinced myself it was my "duty" to sign up and did so. I cowered as the starting date approached.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" I asked.

"Oh, shut up and just do it," I replied.

At the appointed time, I wobbled into the high school.

"The class is cancelled," they told me. "Not enough people signed up."

I controlled my grief until I was outside the school building.

"Too bad," I cackled. "Oh, too, too bad." I guffawed all the way home.

Then Pat Cusick, a very poised and polished lady, volunteered to teach public speaking in our local church. Again, "duty" called.

Five or six shivering women sat around a table in our church basement. I remember two of them physically propping each other up. Don’t remember who was in the class. Mercifully don’t remember any of the sessions except the one where we had to get up and talk FOR FIVE MINUTES on whatever topic Pat would give us right then.

My topic was "water."

Now, if it had been civil rights, the joys of reading, the role of God in our lives, parenting...any of a million topics, I might have had a chance. Miniscule, I’ll admit, given the brain paralysis, but a chance.

But---WATER...?

I looked at them.

They looked at me.

I shuffled my feet.

They squirmed in their seats.

"You wash with water," someone suggested in desperation.

"Yeah, you need water for washing," I mumbled.

Everyone sank lower in their seats.

"You need water to grow things," a voice offered.

Ever have five minutes last an eternity?

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