Imagine Them in Their Underwear

          After a recent presentation, a member of the audience asked me how my career as a State of Arkansas employee had led me to be a storyteller. I laughed at that thought, because as I explained, the storytelling definitely came before the “day job”. We don’t often take a look back at what shaped who we are. Why do some things seem to come easier to us than they do to others?

          Some of my lack of hesitation in getting up to speak may be genetic.  Mom was president of her high school class, and a chief rabble rouser for her professional women’s sorority.  Dad led defensive driving courses as part of his career as a State Trooper. He was the one who advised me that when speaking before a crowd, you should imagine that they are all sitting there in underclothes, making you the most “put together” and prepared person in the room. I actually never practiced that, for fear of breaking into laughter.

          Looking back, it seems that I had plenty of practice on the “stage”. Sunday school and Bible School programs started very early.  In elementary school, our teachers constantly gave us opportunities to sing, or even to memorize lines. I believe my first speaking part was as a forlorn, rejected Christmas tree.

          In Junior High, our choir director had bigger ambitions, with a presentation of “Sadie Shaw from Arkansas”, and then a series of Gilbert and Sullivan operettas. My role as Katisha in the Mikado required a three hour trip to the beauty salon for a huge, jet-black beehive hairdo, complete with knitting needles spiked through it. I remember being required to wear this look to school on the day of the opening performance. The eight-grader playing Yum Yum endured a similar trial, so we sought each other for sympathetic hugs in the hallway as our friends passed by, barely concealing their snickers.

          As a young teen, I joined Sing Out, a division of the Up with People franchise, which involved providing entertainment for civic groups and youth gatherings. We excelled in upbeat music with some “groovy” choreography that would have made the Brady Bunch envious.

          High School brought classes in Public Speaking and Drama, and my sister and I participated in summer theater. One production of “The Bells are Ringing” cast us as part of a chorus line for “The Midas Touch”. High kicks and poo-poo-pe-doos were performed in sparkling gold tights and spray painted tennis shoes. The next year, the show was Finian’s Rainbow, which included a number called “The Begat”.  On Broadway and in the movie, this one was performed by minstrels in top hats and tails. Our version featured the same Midas Touch girls, dressed in black instead of gold. During that next school year, one of my friends and I reprised the routine for drama tournaments, and won awards for our fancy footwork .

          Understandably, by the time I was grown and married, I was no longer timid about speaking, singing or dancing in front of others. What could possibly be more embarrassing than what I had already experienced? This naturally led to being a Cub Scout leader, Roundtable Commissioner, and Mother Nature at Cub Scout Day Camp.

          The younger the audience, of course, the easier it was to perform. Young campers loved the tales that were told while walking down a wooded path. The older boys came up with ways to participate. One of their favorite routines involved me telling the Cubs that they should be very quiet, because they might hear a baby deer calling to its mother. Then, the hidden Boy Scout would shout “Hey Mom!” Shy and timid were not words used to describe those young men.

          As Roundtable chair, I dealt with adults. It was a little harder to convince them to put their inhibitions aside for a silly song, but leading by example, it could be accomplished. At a rather serious banquet on the last night I was serving as commissioner, I couldn’t resist an audience participation song. Entitled “Man With a Head Like a Ping Pong Ball” (to the tune of the William Tell Overture) this one was particularly appropriate when performed by gentlemen with very little hair. Keeping my composure while leading that one from the front of the room was not easy.

          This relative ease helped when my role at work became that of trainer. I was able to put my students at ease while discussing topics that were very difficult for them to grasp. It’s always easier to learn if the teacher seems to be comfortable with the topic.

          So, now I enjoy each opportunity I get to tell a story, whether in writing, or in person. I have been doing this longer than I have been a column writer, or a state employee. I do it because I love it, because it is a big part of who I am. Thanks for being such a great audience.

          

The Forest or the Trees?

Increasingly, I identify with the old adage that talks about how our perspective can be skewed when we are too close to a situation. Sometimes, it’s hard to look at the big picture. The small view may be so immediate that we just can’t get past it.

When I was in charge of teaching Cub Scouts about nature at Day Camp, I used an exercise that I renamed “Honey, I Shrunk the World”. This involved sitting on the ground with legs crossed Indian-style, and throwing a loop of rope down in front of ourselves. After all of our little “worlds” were formed, we took turns describing what was contained there. Many things were the same, but we noticed differences. Some had more green grass, or fewer rocks than others. Maybe there was even wildlife, in the form of an ant-hill. We might have been fortunate enough to lasso a lizard. The idea was to remind these budding ecologists of the complexity and detail of God’s creation. I think it also reminded our young campers that none of us have the same view of what happens around us. After all, the world we come from is a little different than our next-door neighbor’s.

At the opposite extreme, I’ve often been fascinated by the changing view as I’ve flown higher and higher in an airplane. Vehicles that are large enough to contain several fully grown humans began to look like the toys my youngsters played with. Eventually, they looked more like bugs scurrying about, and then disappeared from view altogether. Fields that had been cleared for farming stood out against the forested landscape. They started to look like patches in a crazy quilt, with bodies of water edging them like blue rick-rack.

From my semi-comfortable perch in the sky, I thought about the drama that might be unfolding beneath me. Families were going about their daily business. Happy times and sad times played out while I soared above, oblivious to the details.

During a recent brush-fire, we literally had a bird’s eye view from a distant mountain-top. From our balcony at Mount Magazine lodge, we could see the plume of smoke, and with binoculars, the flames that were consuming acres of trees and brush, and threatening lives and property. Residents and firefighters endured a nightmare. From our perspective, it appeared as an aberration to the beautiful landscape, but with the comfort of our air-conditioned room close at hand, it provided no real threat.

There are times in our lives when we focus on tiny details. During a crisis in our own life, or in the life of someone we care about, we can’t get past the next change of a bandage, the next dose of medicine, the last news we heard from a doctor.

A young mother who is a long time friend of ours currently sits at the bedside of her son, who is awaiting a heart transplant. She endures criticism from those who think she posts too many status updates online. They have no experience with the minutiae she deals with, and can only hope to never need knowledge of such things. Others who have been through a similar situation are able to interpret the confusing details for her, and offer concrete suggestions and encouragement. The rest of us simply promise prayers, and send gifts and postcards to try to provide a more cheerful atmosphere. Social media provides a lifeline, a way to reach out for a cyber hug when it’s needed.

On the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, young people will be competing for medals in the weeks ahead. We won’t have to wait for a weekly tally of results, as technology will allow us to watch in real-time if we so desire. But, from our easy chairs, we can’t possibly have the same sweaty palms, butterfly laden stomachs and adrenalin charged heartbeats as those who are there in person. It’s all about perspective.

Whether you’re on the ground gazing up through the branches, or soaring high above the treetops, your view of life is unique and important. The rest of us will just do our best to understand.