Rule No. 1: Never let them see you sweat

Few things get me more fired up than the prospect of speaking in front of a bunch of people. My penchant for the podium likely dates the whole way back to the cradle. As the youngest in a family of eight children, I had a ready-made audience assembled upon my arrival, and I’ve been working the crowd for hearts and minds ever since.

It doesn’t matter what the subject might be or the number of listeners assembled, if there’s a place at the front and the need for someone to do the talking, then I’m up for it. That’s the simplest explanation for the situation I found myself in on one bright June morning.

I’d been invited by a friend at our local OSU campus to speak at a convention of college agriculture teachers from all over North America. The organizers were looking for someone to share a bit of natural history and local flavor at the front of a chartered motor coach carrying a cohort to the Cuyahoga Valley National Park for a walkabout with a ranger from the U.S. Forest Service.

I’d said yes to the gig in a heartbeat, knowing not only could I get my fix of public speaking, but also I’d have the opportunity to listen and learn from an expert in a Smokey Bear hat — an opportunity I’d never pass up. Those folks are soaking up the outdoor vibes all day every day, and I’ve never met a ranger that didn’t have a mess of great stories to tell.

With microphone in hand at the front of the bus and several dozen smiling faces pitched in my direction, I was fully in my element as the bus rolled away from the curb. We started with the lay of the land and the glaciers that dumped the best of Canada’s topsoil right into our own front yard. We moved on to a discussion of watersheds and how one could float a toy boat north to end up in the Atlantic Ocean or south to the Gulf of Mexico from two streams on the very same farm just up the road.

And we were just dipping into Wayne County’s rich history as a crossroads of Native American travel and trade when I suddenly realized I was sweating profusely.

“So does it seem hot in here to you folks?” I asked while discretely trying to mop pea-sized beads of perspiration from my forehead.

This brings us to another personal trait that dates back to my diapered days, one my family learned the hard way: If you turn Little Johnny’s back toward the windshield and set the wheels in motion, it’s only a matter of time until he turns green!

There, in my commanding spot before an attentive crowd of professionals, I rapidly morphed from cool and collected orator into a panic-stricken snowman trapped in a greenhouse. As I melted like a Popsicle on a summertime sidewalk, I explained to the crowd that I was “experiencing some technical difficulties and would be back in just a moment.” My pasty green pallor revealed the whole truth.

I cowered in my forward-facing seat for the rest of the ride with a small plastic trashcan — generously provided by a highly experienced bus driver — between my feet. Fortunately, I never succumbed to its call. Because if there’s one rule of speechmaking that easily eclipses the “never let them see you sweat” dictum, it’s never let them see you throw up!

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John atjlorson@alonovus.com.