Final Exam

Public Speaking is quite natural to me. I’m not a braggart I just don’t fear being in front of a crowd. I have done many speeches in front of crowds and each time it becomes a little more boring. I am often disgusted and at times amused by the corniness that comes out of in front of people but people like corn. It’s easily digestible and culturally hypo-allergenic. The process of becoming a public speaker of note began for me with an inauspicious and well-received speech for Mr. Tralka’s seventh grade English class. It really marked a turning point for me in terms of my own confidence. In my freshman year of high school I suffered a speech flop that is the stuff of most shy people’s night mares. Instead of creating a phobia for me though it did the opposite and steeled my confidence. They say that after you drop a brick on your toe you’ll never again fear a feather. After that kind of flop, it was all feathers.

Mr. Tralka was very tall and looked suspiciously like Alan Alda. He had a big white mustache and I truly believe that he hated me. Much of his time in class was spent stretched out behind his desk with his gangly limbs extended far too long for his clothes, a scarecrow regaling us with tales of past business glory and completely neglecting the lesson on subject/predicate. No wonder we failed the tests. Whenever he would assign us writing, like a one act play or short story, I would do my best to annoy him with absurd, almost surreal pieces of absolute nonsense. I remember the one play entitled “SHOT the GOLDFISH again!?!?!” Where I oh so endearingly entreated my friend not waste his ammunition on his little swimmy pets and to save it for important things like Mimes and the Neighbors kids. Had I published such a piece of nonsense today homeland security would be called in. He gave me a speech to write on any topic I wanted, though, and I did it on one of my favorite topics. I spent two weeks constructing a well-thought out and well-worded speech that I practiced literally dozens of times. As you might suspect it went off without a hitch and Tralka begrudgingly had to give me an “A.”

One hard puberty later I was in high school and cocky, foolish, and arrogant. Back then I had a penchant for banging my head into a wall for no good reason. I suppose many young people have these self-consuming over estimations of their own abilities but I was a unique flake. Theater and debate were two interests of mine but they were at the same time after school so I had to choose one. I signed up for theater and for debate thinking like a sitcom writer, I suppose, that I could just run from one to the other and no one would be the wiser. I cockily missed cues in the play, I just stopped showing up. I was unhappy that in my first year doing the play I had only secured a minor part. I was, in my own mind, far more talented than any of the other hacks who had paid dues for three years prior. So I focused on debate. I spent a lot of time telling the coach I was her Golden Calf. I made up all kinds of experience that I didn’t have and then the day of the first debate came. I had no strategy, no prepared remarks, and was in all ways completely unprepared. I knew I could handle it though. I stood at the podium to answer to the opening remarks of my opponent. I cleared my throat, took a breath, smiled irreverently and said… Nothing. For it was at that moment, as the fugue began to play across my face, I realized that I had no idea what I was going to say. I turned crimson and stumbled through a horrific mish mosh of unconnected syllables, all the while the moderator regarded with a mix of pity and disgust.

My next public speaking class was with Mr. Duffin, one of the great ones. This man was such a natural born teacher that I’m sure he shared his mother’s womb with a compass. In his public speaking class we did many exercises that made me love being in front of people. I got to act out a scene from Cyrano, it was the opening scene, where Cyrano creates twenty clever insults to chastise a noble for simply stating that ‘His nose is rather large.’ I read the Raven, I enjoyed the freedom to make speeches up on the spot since he never asked for a paper copy. I must admit that the freedom to stand in front of an audience became quite a rush. I learned that with the right words and the right body language they would actually listen to what you had to say. In five minutes you could convince as many people as would listen of something, anything… you could affect them emotionally, happiness, sadness, joy, nostalgia. You have an ultimate responsibility to make the infinitely valuable time that they lend you worthy of having been wasted watching you.

So I was sipping sullenly on a Nestle Quick Chocolate Milk and walking from Psych class to Algebra. In the previous class one of the students had been allowed to teach. I believe that he was going to start student teaching soon and the instructor graciously shared the spotlight to give the new teacher a moment’s practice. He shook so badly that the lines on the board were squiggles and he would stand in front of you awkwardly, searching for his next point even though it was obvious that he was well versed with the material and had much to teach. I approached him after class and offered him some free advice. To his credit he didn’t scoff at me, he acted like a true academic and said, “Sure, what can you teach me?” I spent almost a half an hour telling showing him how various postures and non-verbal communications can get your audiences attention. I told him about different tactics for movement and many other urbane topics that he patiently and intently listened to. He even took some notes, which I found very gratifying. It was all horse flop compared to the last two sentences I said, “The secret to confidence in front of an audience is to practice the material until you can’t get it wrong. Once your past trying to remember all the crap you have to say to the people in front of you, you can focus on speaking to your audience.”

Graf #11

It is with a small tinge of regret and sadness that I write this last graph. This class has really built some confidence for me as a writer. I admit that when I began this I thought I was a pretty good writer. After weeks and weeks of writing every day just a little bit I went back and checked out my earlier pieces and I was blown away at the difference. It has been a humbling experience in many respects, making me realize that I started with much less skill than I thought I did. I have watched the skill develop and the freedom to simply write what I wanted made it something I looked forward to. I would often be mad that I wrote my freestyle on one thing when another idea popped up later that week. It was almost therapeutic when you think about it. The notes were also very helpful, it was sometimes like a puzzle to figure out what they meant but they were always good natured and constructive. All in all I can only thank you for a very enjoyable and educational experience that I will take quite a bit from.
Matt Lee

Essay #9

Should I be walking down a cold and poorly lit street one winter evening, I might huddle into my coat and suppress a shudder. It's funny how many senses are tied to memory and how it can make a tragedy linger on so much longer than it should. The cold always reminds me of Great Lakes, Illinois. That was the site of the beginning of the end of my innocence. I joined the Navy in a weak moment, I was lost and living in the shadow of grief. My first love have ended our association and I was five hundred miles away in rural Pennsylvania. I spent two years trying to make something of my career and then three years falling apart. My lack of maturity cost me everything but I was too proud to understand, too strong to be broken, and too stupid to capitulate. It has been almost ten years but I still remember the event so vividly, maybe someday it will leave me alone. My parents had interred us in Wilkesbarre, Pennsylvania for the winter of my discontent. I had made one ill-fated attempt to move back to New Jersey but was unable to make it on my own at eighteen. I had made the embarrassing call to the parents for a ride home and then had spent many months sequestered in my room. My meloncholy seemed to have no remedy but I found hope in my fathers suggestion of the military. I signed up with the all-too eager recruiter and was off to Great Lakes for my personal nightmare.

The entirety of the entrance processing is meant to begin the breaking down of your psyche. You head is shaved, you are issued the same clothes as your neighbor and every transgression against the rules whether you know them or not is punished with the wrath of God. The Company Commander was your mother and father. Their was little sleep, hard work, and church on Sunday. They called us 'Rickies,' or recruits. They herded us like cattle through a line of corpsman holding pnuematic guns that pumped doses of various antibiotics and vaccines and then sat us down and fed us. We were kept exhausted so that we were more docile and suggestable as they fed us their way of life like a cult. The Krishna's would still be around today if they had the cold efficiency the military uses to turn your children into weapons. They had said eight weeks, and that was all they kept us for. Only certain days of the month were considered 'Training Days' so the eight weeks took several months. The whole humiliating process culminated with our parents all showing up at our graduation. Four boring Admirals spoke for thirty minutes a piece while our families waited anxiously in the bleachers. We were told if we passed out we would not be allowed to graduate that day or see our family. That we would be immediately put back in boot camp with a company set to graduate in two weeks. I made it through, although a few did fall. I was unceremoniously released to my parents custody. The drive to their hotel was strange, all the colors were so bright. I realized that through the whole of the last four months I had rarely seen anything that was not grey or blue.

I was the in one of the last classes for Data Systems Technicians ever held at the Mare Island Naval Shipyard. I failed. My academic performance was worthy only of two words so there I will leave it and sincerely apologize to the cheated reader. I was so distracted by the freedom I now had that school seemed like a fools passion, I became drunk on life. I was transferred to Meridian, Mississippi where I was reassigned to become a Yeoman, in other words an officers secretary. Women ruined both of the schools that the Navy had offered me. How could I choose between love and boring curricula? I had many girlfriends in between the beginning of my first school and the ending of my last but every year their memory fades a little more. Now they are such trifles and yet I did love each of them. I was not wise enough to know each of them, any one of them, would have married me only based on the intimacy we shared. We had intense friendships and love of a quality some never shate. I was fearless, then. The memory of the heartache I paid for the loss of each of them is a masochistic tribute to the quality of the ladies, may we all remove our hats for just a moment in remembrance. Eventually I passed but I went to my ship unprepared for the politics, the abuse, and the nature of the life I had volunteered for.

The ship was a dreary place full of unfortunate souls, each with their own sad story. I met many officers who had joined from patriotism but few enlisted. The enlisted men were all there for less lofty goals. All in search of better grub and a better place in which to consume it. So many simple souls put to the dark purpose who were so naively unware that their flesh was being made to serve death. The point of our lives was to 'Fight the Ship," better described as killing. You can label a bullet peacemaker but that is little comfort to an unfortunate recipient. I was there when I had to be and never studied to increase my paygrade, hence my paygrade never increased. I ignored anyone who could have helped me actually succeed because of my ignorance and immaturity. They began to berate me in the hopes I would either strike one of them so that they could send me to jail or kill myself. Noone ever said that but it was implied. I was hindering the careers of all the people in my leadership with my constant drinking offenses and I was a lousy sailor. I had three choices: Kill myself. Hit one of them. Find a way to get a Psyche Discharge, what you might call the Klinger Solution.

I chose the Klinger way out since it had the least threatening consequences. Some are not so lucky. There were many young men there who were treated the same way as I was and who didn't make it to the end of their careers, either. One young man ate forty hits of acid at a club and after a brief hospital stay ended up in federal prison for five years, yet another cut his wrists. One young man wet his bed on purpose and was discharged. My friend Shawn came home and, like me, fell into a horrific battle with alchohol that neither of us may ever win. I might try and project blame at the Navy but instead I blame myself. I have great regret at the poor showing I made in the Navy and for all the pain and trouble I caused some great fighting sailors. I was not made to be one of them, not a Boatswain, Yeoman, or Machinist. I was not a good person then, and God used this horrible experience to build the man that I am. When I started out in the Navy I was a bold young man with endless aims and a surplus of courage. I openly mocked God. Now I am a careful thirty-three and I'm just a humble cook. If I could ask for anything out of this experience it would be forgiveness from all those who tried so hard to help me learn. I was not asked what I wanted out of this though, I was simply payed a fair wage of wisdom with a bonus of regret.