Speechless

One summer I attended a high school debate camp to refine my public speaking skills.

It was an intensive week of lectures, research, writing, and many practice runs—all culminating in a presentation for our parents on the final afternoon.

The best students were selected by the faculty to debate the topic, which was welfare programs for the poor—ironically, the same thing we’re still debating today.

I hadn’t been selected to debate, and I was privately ecstatic. I knew I wasn’t prepared.

I watched the debate and admired the students.

What I didn’t anticipate is that those not chosen would be given an impromptu question and asked to speak for at least three minutes.

My stomach lurched.

Our names were drawn out of one bowl and a question pertaining to our week’s study was selected from another.

My name was called and a question about American poverty rang out.

I noticed my father sitting in the third row on the end. He nodded.

I tried to organize my thoughts, but my nerves were in control. I knew I had to speak. A large clock in the back started as I opened my mouth.

I did horribly. My thoughts came out of order. I made little sense. My face reddened, and I ran out of words long before the timer chimed.

I sat down ashamed that my father watched me make a fool of myself.

After we collected my luggage and were finally in the privacy of the car for the long drive home, he asked, “Did the debaters have time to prepare?”

I nodded.

“In life, there aren’t many questions you have to answer in the way you did. It’s always better when you have time to prepare.”

At the time, I thought he was talking about debate.

Eventually, I realized he was talking about life.

My father had a gift for turning embarrassing moments into quiet lessons. He didn't criticize me, rescue me, or tell me what I should have said. Instead, he gave me a perspective I've carried ever since: most important answers deserve thoughtful preparation.

Over the years I've had difficult conversations, important decisions, and opportunities I never could have imagined that summer long ago. More than once, I've heard his voice reminding me not to rush an answer.

This Father's Day, I'm grateful for a dad who understood that wisdom doesn't always come in long speeches. Sometimes it comes in a single sentence spoken at exactly the right time.