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Signs of Life

Nancy L. Horner

Moms are People, Too

My youngest son was in fourth grade during a year that we visited England twice, once with the children and once without. When one of his teachers overheard William chattering about our journeys, she asked me to talk to her class about England. William immediately began bouncing up and down in front of us, begging me to please, please, please come talk to his class, please. Like most people, I detest speaking in front of groups of any sort. But, my son was enthusiastic, so I agreed and a date was set.

The week of my little presentation arrived at an inopportune time. I'd been nauseous and unable to eat more than a few spoonfuls of food a couple times per day for over three days. But, the school year was nearly over; rescheduling would be impossible. I didn't have a fever, so I knew that I was unlikely to have a communicable stomach bug. Plus, I'd already set aside photos, maps, coins and souvenirs to show the children; and William was more than a little excited about having Mom visit his class.

So, on the morning of the talk, I gathered my props and put them in a big, plastic beach bag after donning one of my favorite shirts, a comfy knit in lime green and white stripes. I managed to cram down three bites of oatmeal and a swig of soda pop, which promptly threatened to rebel on me. I was nervous enough without having to worry about a messed-up stomach, so I quickly took a spoonful of anti-nausea medicine, grabbed the beach bag and headed for school.

The children filed into the room about ten minutes after I'd finished setting all the visual tools on a long table. Before I began to speak, the teacher, Mrs. Abbe, introduced me and told the children what I was going to talk about.

"Now, you'll need to sit still and listen to Mrs. Horner but you may ask questions if you have them. Just be sure to raise your hand and wait until she calls on you."

A little girl's hand promptly shot up into the air.

"That was fast," I said. "What would you like to know?"

The little girl leaned forward and pointed a finger at me. "What's that stuff on your shirt?"

I looked down and in the middle of my green-and-white striped shirt was a long streak of red medicine that I'd unknowingly spilled before dashing out the door. I could feel my face reddening to the color of the stain. "Um, that's some medicine I spilled on myself. I didn't know I did that."

There was a bit of shared laughter and then the teacher said, "See, even mothers sometimes spill things!"

The talk went rather well, after that point. The children were wiggly but attentive, they asked intelligent questions and they seemed to enjoy looking at the photos and trinkets that I passed around.

As I loaded my bag to leave, Mrs. Abbe returned from escorting the children to their next classroom. She thanked me for my time and told me she and the children enjoyed the presentation.

"It went much better than I expected," I admitted to her. And, I thought to myself, it also taught me an important lesson. When speaking in front of people, it's really helpful to get the embarrassing moment out of the way right at the beginning. A little preliminary humiliation made the rest of my presentation feel like it went by quickly and easily.