Before I gave up trying to understand why a lot of today’s kids behave the way they do, I was thinking that maybe unlike my generation, in whose time shyness was scorned and ignorance was censured, they had decided to embrace who they were and not care what I thought. But I tried anyway, bothered as I was that maybe as their “senior,” I shouldn’t leave them to their own devices, especially if I thought I could teach them something that could help them in the long run.
So came my last “victims,” a pair of young reporters from another department. They were in my area of work and I did find offense that they didn’t think there was anything wrong being in my space and not acknowledging my presence. I called their attention and told them, “You know your mother sent you to school precisely to prepare you for situations like this, when you are supposed to say hello to a stranger rather than walking around me as if I didn’t exist.” After a few days, I offered this same pair, two 20something girls, some popcorn and politely they declined, but I insisted, saying, “I’m not offering you popcorn because I’d like you to have some popcorn. I mean this popcorn is so good I’d like you to try it, but more than that, I am trying to force you to have some interaction with me.”
We’re okay now, so I guess that worked. At least, they no longer scurry away like wild animals when we run into each other along the hallways. But there are so many more young kids in my office now and they’re the same. They avoid eye contact and, if they can’t avoid it, their eyes dart away so quickly, as if we were in a pickup bar and they refuse to show any opening. They would rather take the stairs (which is really good for us in general) than get stuck in an elevator with me for exactly five seconds.
I ask some young people I know whether this behavior means anything and most of them say, “They’re just shy.” But I’m shy. All my life—and there is no end to it—I have battled shyness. I’ve decided at some point since I was a child that it is a disadvantage that I am by nature shy so I fight it.
According to most studies, people’s number one fear is public speaking. Number two is death. Death is number two. Does that sound right? This means to the average person, if you go to a funeral, you’re better off in the casket than doing the eulogy. —Jerry Seinfeld
As a kid I had a lisp, so all the children made fun of me every time I opened my mouth. I spent all of my pre-teens between books for fear of these cruel children, but I also read aloud night after night in front of a mirror because I thought it would help me improve my speech. I wasn’t exactly doing it for those people who made fun of my speech impediment. In all honesty, I didn’t really care. I wasn’t interested in being their friend. I just thought it was sad I couldn’t be a good speaker, especially when I developed a taste for talk shows like Jullie Yap Daza’s Tell the People, Louie Beltran’s Straight from the Shoulder, and Dong Puno’s Viewpoint. Little did I know then that I could use a lot of help in speaking better. I suspect I had ankyloglossia or tongue-tie. I vaguely remember my father saying the doctors did not recommend surgery to remove the extra membrane that tied my tongue to the floor of my mouth as it would cause too much trauma.
I guess they were right because I did survive years in advertising, during which I had to present and defend my ideas to a multitude of clients, sometimes an amphitheater full of clients. Now, though for the last 30 years, I’ve been a writer, I also teach occasionally or speak in public about writing and other things. I mean, no surgery, no speech therapy, just me going beyond my nature by reading aloud before a mirror every night in the hope, though I didn’t think there was any hope, that someday there would be something short of a miracle.
Maybe it’s a good thing, maybe it’s a bad thing, but now we are trying to be better people by telling them it’s okay to be you. If you are shy, embrace it. If you are an introvert, embrace it. If you don’t know The Beatles, admit it, even if you are the most followed DJ in the universe. If you want to be 700 lbs, don’t let them dare talk you out of it. Celebrate who you are and celebrate who you are not—that’s what we tell the kids. It doesn’t matter what other people say. Other people don’t really matter, because this is your life. If you don’t want to say hello, don’t. It’s better to scamper away like some rodent than to have to say hello to someone you don’t care for. Yes, the kids will be all right because we tell them: Go ahead, dear. Be a snowflake. Be a scaredy-cat. Be a wallflower. I love you anyway.
PS: The title of this essay, “Me Talk Pretty One Day,” borrows the title of the collection of witty, clever, funny essays of one of my favorite authors, David Sedaris.