PINTA PARADE

  It is a week before indoor track practice is ready to begin. My speech is in three days. I stay after school to perform my speech for Mr. Reents. They are each in the top ten of a rather competitive class.

Two seniors are in the room. Mr. Reents is a mentor. They are Sterling Merit scholars.

“This is the speech that David is going to give to go to England in a couple of months.” Mister Reents notes, patting me on the back of the neck like he is at a petting zoo, pushing his glasses into his forehead. There is something in the manner in which he welcomes my speech that makes it sound like I have already won the contest. That makes it sound like I just simply cannot fail. Two years ago dad video taped my speech in his classroom in front of his best friend Chuck Ames. Last year I went over it incessantly while listening to enya in front of my body-length mirror. This year it has been memorized since New Years day. Mr. Reents crosses his legs and tilts his head. Several of the seniors are looking at me with a stuttered smile on their lips. For some reason I  make little churning motions with my free hand when I talk about England as if I am trying to solicit off-brand life insurance. I am going over the dynamics of my speech. I am gesticulating with my arm. I am making eye contact with the twin seniors who are intellectual titans and with Larry Reents. I am using alliteration.

At the end of my speech the two intellectual titans are nodding. Mt Reents is smiling. He claps his hands exactly twice in a row.

I think about how kind he was to write a recommendation letter for me on Manual High stationary with the school motto Status Quo is not an option in bold font at the bottom of the page.

 

He says the word good.  Two seniors are smiling.

Do it like that David and you should be fine.