“Public speaking is scary; I get it, but you have to do it, and in this family, you will learn to do it well.” I found these words tumbling out of my mouth following my 10-year-old daughter’s 4-H meeting. To my shame, it was reminiscent of some ultimatums my dad gave me 20 years ago. We were on hour two of a lecture that had lasted 115 minutes too long. It wasn’t my best parenting, but I was embarrassed and even a little ashamed of her.
At that evening’s meeting, she’d given her animal science presentation as part of her 4-H requirements, and it had been an utter disaster.
She’d prepared a structurally excellent presentation that included balancing a simple finish ration for a calf. She had practiced how to reference each chart from the handouts and describe total digestible nutrients (TDN) and crude protein (CP). We’d coached her to speak loud and clear, to look up from her notes and to generally act like she cared to be there. During Rihanna’s muted Super Bowl halftime show, she practiced her presentation in front of my brother. It wasn’t perfect, but it was OK, considering the amount of resistance she had on display.
However, during the actual presentation, she did none of those things. She stood in front of her club members and mumbled a speech that she read from her script. She sat back down, and I gave her “the eye.” She mouthed, “I know,” and rolled her eyes. This preteen will be my parenting demise.
The lecture began on the truck ride home and continued until bedtime. You see, this is a matter of principle. My husband and I make our living by communication. Craig is a technical service veterinarian and annually gives hundreds of presentations. I’m a communication professional and, aside from writing, I handle internal and external communication for ag corporations. Communication is key to any door, and one must learn to do it well.
We decided that though she didn’t “have to,” and she’d “adequately” met her 4-H requirements, she’d compete at the county speech competition. At first, she wasn’t thrilled at this “punishment,” but her inherited competitive streak improved her outlook after a few days.
She had a month to prepare, and since we’d micromanaged the first time and it hadn’t worked, we gave her space to do it her way.
Today was the competition, and afterward, she proudly stood against the cafeteria wall and smiled in a way that, at another time, she’d call embarrassing. She held up a Reserve Champion rosette for Extemporaneous Speaking and a third place blue ribbon for Junior Livestock Presentation.
On the way home, she read through the judge's notes and was furious she got knocked out of Grand Champion because the judge only gave her 8 out of 10 for appearance because he suggested she “clean your boots next time.”
For both parent and child, this is a prime example where the FFA motto perfectly describes life – Learning to do, doing to learn.
