“Handing me my copy on her way to  the podium, she refused to give me a high-five, muttering “no” as she walked by. Here we go. If she bombs, she will hate me for the rest of my life. What have I done?”

 

Yesterday, I was transported back in time, back to June 1, 2016. I found myself sitting back in 219 (my old room) among now-seniors, reminiscing on an experience that elevated my life and the lives of those around me. And it all happened because one young lady stood up, faced her fears, and grew before our eyes. Avery.

Caught up in the nostalgia of the moment, I went digging through the archives of my blog and found record of Avery’s moment that meant something then and everything now. A Rough Start Here’s an excerpt from that long-ago post.

Last Friday, Avery–some of you will remember her as the girl who needed a steady stream of “you-can-do-this pep talks–came to me and said that she didn’t think she could do her speech, that it was too personal, and that speaking in front of people was too hard. I told her she could. I told her she had to. Having worked with her on her speech, I knew she had a powerful message that others needed to hear, a message that would/could make for a truly momentous moment for this young lady and her peers. Her topic dealt with self-image/esteem and her own personal struggles and successes with this difficult issue.

Worried that she had become resolute in her decision not to share her speech, I told her that she had created a gift that she had to share with the world. I told her that when her peers looked at her, they assumed that she had her act together, and for her to share that she had struggled with the same issues as everyone in the room, could be as transformative for us as it was for her. She had to share. It was bigger than her. She couldn’t keep it to herself. We left it at that.

Yesterday, as third period began, she would barely make eye-contact with me, shaking her head when she did. So I acted quickly, and she reluctantly agreed to go  fourth out of the six for the day. Still, I wasn’t sure, but we moved on, and then it was Avery’s turn. Handing me my copy on her way to  the podium, she refused to give me a high-five, muttering “no” as she walked by. Here we go. If she bombs, she will hate me for the rest of my life. What have I done?

And she began. She and her voice shook for four-and-a-half minutes, she barely held back tears, and more than once I thought she was going to step off the stage, but she saw it through to the end, and we all knew by then that we had witnessed something special. Truly.

As she walked back by me, she gave me a weak high five as I looked to her for some reassurance that she was okay. And we moved on. Fortunately, Alan, true to form, gave us some much-needed comic relief with his speech after the heavy moment from Avery’s. At the end of the period, I gave Avery a shout out for her bravery, letting her and the class know that she had made my year. I was so proud of her, proud of all of them for seizing this opportunity to grow.

At some point during the day, Doubt excused himself, passing quietly from my mind as kids nailed speech after speech after speech. The day, despite two tense moments, was everything I hoped it would be. Of course, it was made so even more, when Avery came to thank me a few periods later for making her go, for making her grow.

Digging a little deeper into the archives I also found record of my “pep talks” toughLOVE.

I began “hell week” by saying to each class, “We can do this.” And I’ve said it every day since. Yesterday, required additional assurance, as Avery in third period informed me that I would have to remind her several times over the period that she could do it. So, every five minutes or so, I cheered her on, telling her she could do it. Of course, I’d like to believe that my cheers fell on more ears than just Avery’s.

I pushed. She flew. She found her wings. And though she will soon soar into the great expanse come graduation, I am glad she came back to roost for a moment yesterday, radiating sunlight, reanimating my memories as shadows of now-gone students cast as the gifts they are. Gifts. Thank you for the gift, Avery.

Meanwhile…

Still testing.