A question of courage (Heather)

Some piece of ancient wisdom has it that the majority of people would rather be the person in the coffin at a funeral than the one delivering the eulogy. I’m dubious, but there is one person I’ve known who I believe might have made that choice.
Her name was Terry Kaiser and she was in my Grade 11 English class. She was a better-than-average student, short and cute with bobbed hair framing a laughing round face. She was well-liked by everyone.

The problem arose when I announced to the class that we were about to launch into a 6 week public speaking module. While no one was passionately looking forward to it that I could see, Terry was the only one who came to me and confessed a terror of public speaking.

“We’ll ease into it,” I suggested. “You’ll be just fine.”

Having taken this optimistic view of things, it was a bit of surprise when, on the Monday of people’s first presentations (a 2 minute speech about a hobby or pastime), Terry wobbled to the front of the room, turned to face the group, weaved slightly, and dropped like a rock. We’d barely got a rescue operation organised when her eyes began fluttering and she was back in action. She refused to leave the room and sat at her desk for the rest of the class, white face propped on her hands.

We conferred at the end of the class. “Take it slow,” I said. “If you want to tackle it again, we’ll take a smaller bite – perhaps just come to the front, look at your audience, take a few breaths and go back to your seat.”

“I just want to be normal!” she replied.

I pointed out that she was perhaps more normal than she thought and we left it at that.

Wednesday, the next class, I exercised newfound prudence and introduced the session with some breathing exercises. Part way into the presentations, Terry came to the front, deep-breathing wildly. Bernice and Kevin, in their front row desks, poised on the edge of their seats, ready for the catch. Terry faced us, turned green and looked about wildly. Bernice grabbed the wastepaper basket and Terry chucked up her breakfast into the bin.

Third time lucky – Friday was a raging success. Terry tried again, this time choosing to immediately sit tailor-fashion on the floor. Amid long deep breaths, she eventually looked up and tucked a dangling lock of hair behind an ear. She hadn’t said a word but her classmates applauded her generously. She returned to her seat with a hint of a skip in her step.

That was the turning point. From there, Terry managed to deliver a 17-syllable haiku, a 1 minute presentation on her hobby (ice skating), a little essay on world peace and ultimately, her piece de resistance, a passionate story about her collie Flaps, who had died recently. It was a gentle, heartfelt and thoroughly heart-warming tribute.

We’d narrowly avoided the funeral and Flaps the collie got a wonderful eulogy.