Public Speaking and a Vacuum

I was the quiet kid in school, and never wanted attention to ever be directed toward me. I'm not entirely sure why, and even today, I really don't like to be the center of attention. Now, I'm the guy that will make snide remarks about the stupidity of human beings that sits off to the side so you really don't know who just insulted you. I only go for the center of attention when I need to get a point across. I am extremely good at public speaking, I hate every second that I do that, and inwardly I'm screaming to get away. Back in school, we had to give a speech in front of the class, and this was enough to cause me to start sweating like a mob snitch under a heat lamp in the middle of summer in the middle of Death Valley. Fun fact: I also look like that when eating Jamaican food, like jerk chicken or jerk beef, it's quite hilarious. And that speech for class, turned out to be a contest for something, I don't remember. The subject was on what I considered to be a hero. Others in the class wrote about the police, military, a nurse, some costumed heroes from comic books that took it upon themselves to solve society's fallen virtues by beating up random thugs and hoodlums. And as a comic book nerd, I was down with that being the basis for many a hero, but instead, I wrote about my dad.

He wasn't military, or a cop, or a doctor. My dad didn't go out and save people, he never made headlines in the paper or appeared on TV. My dad was just my dad; he worked recapping truck tires. He worked his ass off so that I could eat three times a day and had clothing to wear and some video games to play. The job he had was harsh on the body and he worked twelve hours a day, every day, and I don't remember him bitching about it either. My dad grew up poor and remembered how his mom got packets of ketchup and mixed them into hot water, for tomato soup. I fully believe that is why he busted his ass for me and my sister, and I have never had to experience that kind of tomato soup. I didn't get the best clothes but we didn't have to get them from Goodwill, the stuff was new, just cheap knockoff brands. I was cool with that, I still have no fashion sense, the stuff fits and isn't a rag, cool, I'll wear it until it is. This doesn't seem like a bragging point for a speech about a hero. And I was just trying to get a passing grade, I was tired of getting detention for having crappy grades. And I made sure that speech was the required two minutes. And damn it, the teacher thought it was awesome and I got an A. But also pushed me along to the next speech stage in a public speaking competition, I knew nothing about.

The second stage for that damn speech contest was to give it in front of the whole school. This school was freaking small too, the seventh and eighth grades were in the same room with the same teacher, and there were still only about twenty of us, so giving a speech in front of the school would only have an audience of probably ninety people. For the quiet kid, that has a very strong fear of public speaking, I'm surprised I didn't piss myself on that stage. Luckily, I am the master of my bladder when public speaking. And I was damn sure I was not moving on in the contest, and didn't add on the required amount of props for that round. I did have my dad come up to the stage, which people clapped for, and used him as my one and only prop, and gave my speech, word for word, again to a larger crowd. I was extremely happy that I did not move on, the next speech was in front of the city council and then probably on to the state level, in front of a stadium of people, I don't know, and I would have crapped myself, just to get out of that. And knowing my goddamn luck, I would have been given a standing ovation for it.

Through high school, I didn't have to get in front of the class to many times to speak. At least that is faded from memory, so it must not have been anything special. But in college, I found out that several classes required public speaking. Why would they torture people with that, I don't have a job that requires me to speak in front of hundreds of people, it's not a skill I need. But I got through those with flying colors, got a couple friends out of one of those speeches, and the professor telling me that the next one would not be needed. That speech on what I learned in a world's religion class was just a rant on how all of them were wrong, for fifteen minutes. No notes, just me bashing on the whole thing. It was quite fun, seeing everyone squirm in their seats, like how my skin felt.

The reason I bring up the public speaking is for my grandpa, we had his memorial on what would have been his eighty-third birthday. My mom and her brother told stupid stories he told to us, many times over, for their eulogies, which they got laughs for. And when my uncle, he was the emcee for the whole shindig, said if anyone was willing to come up and tell everyone a story or a memory of my grandpa, now was the time. I stood and got up there before everyone. My grandpa was a well liked person in town. The man never met a stranger, he saw a new friend in the making, or as I would put it, fresh meat for his stories. I got up to that podium and saw just how many people were in that building, the sign for max capacity showed two hundred-fifty people and since there were people standing all over the place and outside, the estimated count was close to six or seven hundred. I said hello, and told everyone who I was, putting emphasis on that I was the first born grand kid, because not everyone knew who I even was, and being a first born should be treated as the godly being we are. Afterward, I was told that a good friend of my grandpa, one he had from high school, was kinda pissed off that I forced my way up there, but if I had waited, no matter how many times I said Dune's Bene Geserit litany against fear (Fear is the mind killer. I shall face my fear and let it pass through me. And when it passes, only I shall remain) was going to get my ass up there, after anyone else. My dad sat there in the front with my mom, shocked that I, the quiet, non-public speaker, stood there in front of that crowd telling my favorite memory of me, and my grandpa. And here it is.

When I was a small kid, possibly kindergarten or first grade, both my parents worked, leaving me and my little sister to the care of my grandma a few times a week. Money was tough then so a babysitter was out of the question. I watched cartoons on the thirteen channels we had on TV then, every day. Tom and Jerry and the Flintstones repeats on TBS around lunch time, then nothing good on until 3PM, and that was Ducktales and Rescue Rangers. Every day was the same thing, and at my grandparent's house was no different to me, except for a wonderful green reclining chair. The chair was one of the best seats I have ever sat in, and nothing since has even come close to that thing. I believe it was made by some deity that just wanted to be comfortable. I would sit in that chair and watch my toons, with some snack my grandma thought was good for me. And everyday, my grandpa would get home from work, drop his two ton tool box outside the door, no one but him ever lifted that damn thing because it had belonged to Thor before he decided he only needed the hammer. My grandpa was worthy of the power to lift Thor's screwdrivers and wrenches and sockets.

After the thundering boom, of that box hitting the earth, my grandpa would come in to watch the news on KABC. And if someone was watching the TV first, he would kick that person out of that chair, and change the channel. To kick me out of the chair, he would try to sit on me first, and you know, after the first thirty or so times, you'd think the joke would just get old, and get new material? My grandpa either thought that was a great joke, which is true for several other jokes he told, but I think he just thought of only sitting down in that chair, and only me screeching stopped him from doing so, and then he played it off as a joke. But any complaint about watching something on TV first was countered with, “It's my TV.” Every time, he used that line to trump anything else, he did this when my mom was a kid too, when there were only the three channels. And missing an episode of whatever the cartoon was, was devastating to a six year old. But I lost each, and every time. Tears didn't sway the man, he told me to buck up, and still watched the news. I viewed this as a war. I wanted my cartoons.

My first attack worked to perfection, I was the only one that knew how to set up the video game player, with out the use of the instructions, which I made sure the old man couldn't find. So, when he came in, and just changed the channel, all he got was static, and he'd leave the room to go work on tying flies for fishing. Score one for the kid. A few years later, talking sixth grade here, my grandparents got a new TV, one with an SAP function, so I switched it to that for his news. I forgot that my stubborn streak came from that man, and he sat there pissed off and watched the news in Spanish, not knowing a single word of that language, out of spite.

One of the other things that happened every day when I was a small kid would be my grandma's constant vacuuming. I believe she had made a deal with the devil that not only included that wonderful chair and keeping her youthful looks. My grandma is nearly eighty years old and she stopped aging when she got silvery gray hair. My mom barely looks younger than her. And if she did sell her soul and only had to vacuum, the devil got ripped off. Or it is a form of OCD, she likes to run that vacuum. And normally she would start her vacuum run in the family room working her way to the back of the house where the bedrooms were. Everyday, the same pattern, until the one time. No one knows why, but she started in reverse one day, and when she got to the family room, I gave up watching TV and just played with my Lego knock offs. My grandpa got home, and went on as usual, and he just sat down in the chair, not paying attention to where I was, and this is the reason I think he played that off as a joke. He turned on that TV, changed it to channel seven and all anyone could hear was that loud back and forth running of the vacuum. My grandpa was irritated, being foiled once again from watching the news out of Los Angeles, and he saw me just sitting there on the floor playing with my toys. He turned to me and said, “Go tell Ma,” short for grandma, I've called her that since I was two years old,” to turn off that Goddamn vacuum.” I use the phrase “goddamn” all the time because of my grandpa, it was his favorite phrase, and I just carry it on as a legacy. And when he told me that, I got up, because I was a good grandson. I went into the family room, and upon seeing her grandson waiting to talk to her, my grandma turned off the vacuum. And I told her what I was told to do, I said, “Ma, Pa told me to tell you to 'turn off that goddamn vacuum.'” Word for word, because that's what was asked of me.

My grandma constantly yelled at my grandpa for swearing around the grandchildren. And to this day, I don't know what caused me to stay in that room as my red-faced grandmother went into that room and promptly yelled at my grandpa. I don't know what happened in that room, I'm sure my grandpa got swatted and smacked and yelled at and various other things that my six year old mind could not wrap itself around. But a couple seconds later, my grandpa rushed out of that room and into his work shop area to work on those fishing flies. My grandma came back out and put the vacuum away, I'd guess she was too pissed off to finish. And I went back into the TV room, and to my cartoons. Checkmate.