Alex vs. Public Speaking

• I was bar mitzahed. I threw up beforehand, squeaked out my haftorah, and sped through my thank-you speech, never looking up to acknowledge the audience.
• My freshman year of high school, in Ms. Bruska’s biology class, we had to make DNA models. Mine was pretty awesome: black and cherry twizzler nibs, threaded onto unfurled wire hangers and attached with markered toothpicks. We had to stand up in front of the class and present our models. I stood up and immediately started laughing. Uncontrollably. It was terrifying. Nothing was funny. Nobody else was laughing, but I couldn’t speak. Only mumble out apologies between laughter. I don’t remember if I ever actually got through my presentation. I only remember feeling like a giant asshole/idiot.
• At high school graduation, I gave one of six short student speeches. I spoke fast but at least audibly. I don’t remember anyone laughing, but I remember trying to make it as funny as I could. One of my friends told me afterward how fantastic it was, but I was unable to let myself trust him.
• Senior year of college, I needed to present my senior thesis, Spun Knots in Four-Space to the department. Forty five minutes of lecture and fifteen minutes of questions. I rocked the hell out of it. Eye contact, good chalkboard work, and a clear, conversational tone. Afterward, a professor I hadn’t taken a class with said that if I didn’t get a phd, she would hunt me down. I thnk she meant in math, but her threat got stuck in my head.
• Three weeks ago, my brother and Jess were married. I was the last of ten guests to speak on behalf of their union. Everyone fucking loved me. More than one person said I should do stand-up comedy (I shouldn’t). The only bad thing was that somehow there were people who knew me who didn’t already think of me as hilarious and charming.

Tomorrow, I begin teaching for the first time in my life, and all I can think about is freshman biology.