I Had It...

And then I lost it. Just like that…no rhyme or reason. One minute, I was happily reciting my speech – the best I’d ever given – to the three judges sitting in front of me, and the next I was completely lost. My mom would later reason that my lunch was to blame for this sudden bout of unexplainable forgetfulness…but I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s back it up to where this whole ordeal began…

It was a sunny Saturday in Columbus, Ohio on the day of the State FFA Public Speaking Contest. While I hadn’t had much competition or practice to get here, I knew that to win this contest I’d have to give it my all. These contenders were the cream of the crop: the best public speakers from around the state – at least, those who were in FFA. Jim Ogden, Ohio FFA’s CDE manager, told us at the beginning of the competition that “most contests separate the cream to the top – but this contest separates cream from cream. Even if you lose,” he chuckled, “you’re still cream.”

Such strange advice. But it was true. Those of us that were here were the best of the best, and it was going to be stiff competition. I knew this; I’d participated in FFA public speaking contests three times before: once for creed-speaking, once for beginning prepared speaking, and once for advanced prepared, which I was participating in for the second time this year. And my speech was great, the best I’d ever written by far. Not only was the information pertinent, it was interesting to me, and I had a passion for it – and anyone who listened to me speak could tell. That, I thought, was going to be my greatest advantage in this contest.

And so it was. After a flawless first round, the judges had nothing but praise. “Such passion.” “So riveting.” “Kept me interested the whole time.” “Spoke directly to me.” “One of the best speakers I’ve heard.” I was happy. With compliments such as this, there was no way that I wouldn’t get into the top two – so I’d finally be eligible to compete for the top prize. If I made it, it would be my first time in the finals – after a near miss last year, by just two measly points. When it came time to announce the winners, sure enough, there I was in either first or second place.

“Just do what you did in there, and you’ll blow the rest of them out of the water,” one judge told me. “No competition,” said another. I was ready to go – and ravenous. All that speaking and worrying had worked up quite an appetite, and I was more than ready to chow down on some Raisin’ Cane’s. Three chicken strips and a basket of fries later, I was ready to go in for my second – and final – rendition of my speech. As I waited with my mom, grandmother, and sister outside of the room, a stranger walked up to me and asked if she and her family could sit in on my speech and “see how it’s done on the state level”. I replied affirmatively, confident in my speaking abilities. A few minutes later, her “family” – fourteen people total – and mine were seated comfortably in the room, and I was ready to give my speech and win it all.

It was looking good. The intro had been enthusiastic and my hook seemed to have worked – I had all three judges nodding and one smiling. My transitions were working well, my inflection was good, and I wasn’t going too fast – this was, without a doubt, my best presentation so far. And then…silence.

Silence. What happened? Why had I stopped speaking? W-w-w-ait, did I forget what came next? What comes next? What comes next? “I…I lost it,” I mumbled. It seemed like an eternity that I waited for my train of thought to pull back into the station. It never did. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, one of the judges fed me the line. Of course – I knew that was what came next. I picked up where I had inexplicably left off and continued on. I was approaching the end of the paragraph, and was ready to start the next one.

And it happened again.

I was mortified. In front of twenty people – three of them relatives, three judges, and fourteen strangers – I had completely forgotten the rest of my speech. Once again, one of the judges gave me the line, and on I went. The rest of the speech went off without a hitch, and had I taken the pauses out of the recitation it would have been perfect. I was even under time! Unfortunately, though, the judges couldn’t ignore the gaping holes. I knew this, and knew that I had blown my chance – my final chance – at winning the state public speaking contest.

The results were announced. I sat, hoping fervently that someone – anyone – had sucked worse than I did, and that I could at least walk out with a third-place. I hoped against hope – but not surprisingly, the most I achieved with my failure was fourth place – a complete loss, as far as I’m concerned.

“You were nervous,” said one judge. No, I wasn’t. “Everyone forgets their speech sometime or another.” Not me. “I forgot my speech once – it was horrible. As you can see, I still haven’t gotten over it.” Gee, thanks. That helps.

I didn’t know why – after who-knows-how many times I’d gone over it, and the perfection I thought I’d achieved – I suddenly forgot my speech. And I wasn’t angry about it, or a bad sport, and I didn’t cry (thank heavens) – but I was mad at myself. There was no one else to blame. Sure, now, I can laugh about it, though I’m still sour over the experience. The whole thing wouldn’t have been so bad had one judge not told me that I “spoke with a passion [he’d] never heard before,” and that I “would have won… it if it weren’t for the gaps.”

They say that when you eat a big meal, there’s a lack of oxygen to your brain. It hinders your thought process. This is why people are tired or fall asleep after large holiday meals. On second thought, I take that no-blame statement back - I blame the chicken.