Reading out loud in class. Besides trying to discern each night what mythical creature was looming in the darkness behind my bedroom door; this was my first real terror.
I absolutely LOVED reading books and only moderately tolerated having to do a writing assignment.
However, having to read OUT LOUD in front of my peers was cause for unprecedented anxiety and loss of bladder control.
I hated it more than anything. And so, I began to experiment with new and inventive ways to get out of having to do it. To my disappointment, neither my emotional intensity, nor my acting skills spared me the chore of reading out loud in class.
I had already exhausted the appendix rupture, raspy throat, loose stool need a hall pass now, and “I think I have pencil lead in my eye,” scenarios so much that my teachers at the very least thought I was either extremely unfortunate or an 8 year old hypochondriac. Many of my report cards had notes attached with helpful suggestions to my parents – “Perhaps you could explain to Melissa the grave consequences for feigning a seizure in class and that although threatening to lick her desk is disturbing it’s hardly dangerous.” At any rate, despite many attempts, my teacher would always allow me ample time to finish with my fit asking “Melissa would you please read paragraph three and speak up so the whole class can hear you”. Honestly, those words were like shrapnel – I felt the blood draining right out of my body.
The real irony here is that at home I would MANY times read out loud in my bedroom. The classic tale, ”Amityville Horror,” was most certainly a favorite of mine. And I have to say…. I was convincing. In fact, I scared the shit out of myself. My husky, breathless voice saying, “get out” really brought that book to life. It was as if the flies were all over MY window!
I would stand in front of my dresser mirror, in the dim light watching my face contort in almost indescribable fear as the words fell from my lips. Jesus that was good stuff. I would take my bow and give thanks to everyone for coming to what had to be the most emotional reading of his or her lives.
Sitting in the second row of my 3rd grade classroom I began my hellish torture by reading excerpts from my kaleidoscopes textbook. As riveting as it was to learn about grain production in Zimbabwe, the words somehow still felt cold and flat. I droned on for what seemed like an eternity before my dark half took hold. I was already sweating so I used that to my advantage. Add to that a pounding headache and nausea….bam! Instant malaryia. The jokes on you!
“Dear Mr. and Mrs. Satan,
Will you please inform Melissa how deeply disappointed I was with her antics this afternoon during social studies. And that if she spent as much time paying attention in class as she does on her “acting” she would know that the tsetse fly is NOT native to Ohio.
Sincerely,
A woman about to lose her mind
