My dad was a professional public speaker. He used to travel around to neighboring towns and cities to deliver public speeches. He was a perfectionist and he was as perfect as they come with regards to memorization and deliverance. He would commit an entire hour long speech completely to memory and he had the most endearing and perfect way of speaking. He drew his audience in and you soon forgot you were even listening to a man speak because you would find yourself living whatever he was saying in your mind. He would practice for hours at home in the privacy of his office. I know this because I would secretly stand outside with my ear pressed up against the door, listening. My dad was always an anomaly to me. How could someone so scarred and so imperfect be so perfect? One of the things my dad always taught me about public speaking was that you never write down notes word for word. You only write down the basic thoughts or an 'outline', which enables you to speak from the heart and improvise, instead of reading from a script.
When my best friend asked me to give a speech at her wedding this past weekend, my initial thought was sheer terror. And if I'm being completely honest, it wasn't terror about speaking in public in front of an audience of 300. I felt terrified because I knew there would be high expectations of me and I didn't want to disappoint him. I'm my father's daughter and he's been gone now for 5 1/2 years, I not only had to do this but I had to do it well because I know he's watching. Outwardly, I made it known I was nervous but on the inside, deep deep down, I was calm. If there's one thing I've learned since my father's death it's that he's making up for lost time. He's there for me and I can count on him, things foreign to me up until now. I knew he would be up there with me, hand on my shoulder, guiding me through.
I felt sick to my stomach the entire day leading up to my speech. A force inside of me begged me to have faith but it was truly hard to do so. I was sweating, I was nervous, I was nauseous. But I have to say, the moment I reached the microphone I felt his hand on my shoulder. He had never put his hand on my shoulder before but I knew that's what it would feel like. He was standing with me and he was comforting me and I felt that same fear of letting him down that I had felt my entire life. I thought I had lost that feeling when he passed away but I am grateful it is back because if I'm not trying to please him or trying to rebel against him, then who am I?
