Even though my grandkids are having a fantastic time playing T-ball and parent pitch, watching them stirred some not-so-happy memories of my turns at bat. After sharing the story of my unhappy softball experience, I received some reassuring feedback. Nearly everyone has a tale of a physical education class disaster, so I don’t feel so bad.
And one friend made me laugh when she said, “I didn’t know you were shy, Rhonda.”
I know, it’s hard to believe. I don’t have any problem speaking to people now. I can usually find something to talk about with just about anyone, anywhere. I am comfortable chatting about what’s in the current issue of the News- Herald on WTIP community radio on Thursday mornings. I can even manage to get up in front of a group to speak.
I am now the opposite of shy. The people who used to wish that I would talk a little probably now wish I would shut up. But I wasn’t always this way.
I remember being terribly timid. School was scary. I can clearly recall the terror of having to get on the school bus. Thank goodness bus driver Kenny Lovaas was a kind soul who kept the rowdy cousins and others from picking on the quiet kids.
I remember lying on my little mat in kindergarten worrying about having to talk during “Show and Tell.” I missed the first two years of elementary school spring concerts because the idea of standing up in front of all those people made me physically ill. I regret it now—I didn’t get to see the silly skit performed to Miss Polly had a dolly who was sick, sick, sick…So she called for the doctor to come quick, quick, quick…
I didn’t get much bolder as I got older. I signed up for a 4-H public speaking course and I wrote an essay to read in a contest. That was the easy part. The speech was supposed to last five minutes. I read it at home, over and over, and it was the perfect length. Until the contest, when I realized I was being recorded. I read my elegant fiveminute speech in a tongue-twisted two minutes.
It didn’t get much better in high school. I didn’t join any clubs or even take part in class too much. I had my small circle of friends with whom I acted silly, but beyond that I didn’t talk to too many people.
I didn’t start to be sure of myself until I graduated and moved far away from home. It was sink or swim. I had to talk to people, as I had no family— not even those annoying rowdy cousins— nearby. So I started talking to neighbors and happily, I made gained some lifelong friends.
Then our military family was transferred to Germany. Not only did I have to overcome shyness, I had to do it in another language! There is not much scarier in the world than going to the bank or the grocery store when you can hardly say hello properly. I muddled through and eventually became somewhat comfortable speaking German.
My shyness disappeared fairly rapidly. I figured if I could make myself heard and understood in a country where I barely spoke the language, I could get along fine anywhere in United States. And I did. We lived in a number of places and I interviewed and was hired for a variety of jobs. Each move, each new job, each new neighbor, increased my confidence.
And that was a good thing, because when I heard that publishers Hal and Deidre were looking for a writer, I wasn’t shy. Older and bolder, I applied—and got the job.
When you suffer an attack of nerves
you’re being attacked by the nervous
system. What chance has a man got
against a system?
Russell Hoban
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