Triple Bubble

It’s incredible how one tiny bubble can ruin a thing of value.    

 

I was once offered a diamond ring for a song. It looked very similar to the other ring the jeweler (a friend) was selling for ten times the prize.

The difference? If you look at the cheapy with a magnifying glass, you’d see a bubble, and therefore imperfect. “And therefore not as brilliant as the perfect one,” she added.

That’s how I felt last month, a stone with a bubble—for three consecutive times.

One after the other, three invitations from different schools in different parts of the country came. They were to be held exactly two days apart from each other. Owing to my experience in children’s literature, these schools wanted me to talk about my journey as a writer to inspire the children.

Similar invitations last year gave me rich and delightful memories of talking to children ages 3 to 6. I cherish those times and given a chance, I’d do them again.

And so I accepted these three invitations. Since I was to talk about the same topic, I prepared only one speech. Out of habit—or what I’d rather call passion for excellence (others call this Obsessive/Compulsive syndrome)—it took me days to write my speech as I researched, revised, rewrote, and converted it to a power point presentation.

From the fonts to the images to the slide transitions/effects and timing, I wanted everything to be just right. Although I usually prefer to speak extemporaneously—and sound spontaneous and informal—the process to get there is deliberate, calculated and long.

First bubble.

I was armed with my thumb drive, a back-up CD, and colored cue sheets. No need for a laptop—I had everything down pat. From the airport I was met with a bouquet of fresh GenSan flowers. During the short drive to my hotel, I found out that the graduation exercises were for grade school not prep school, as I had wrongly assumed! These would be 11 to 12 year-old tweens.

The hotel had a spare computer with hazy monitor, badly needing a replacement; its software had not been upgraded since it was bought in, well, give or take 10 years. All my fonts morphed into Times New Roman, running in all directions. And my carefully-laid out images danced and pranced. I had to revise, edit, and re-layout in record time.

Second bubble.

This time I made sure what level I was speaking to: prep school. I also brought my laptop along, just in case. But when I got there, the program read: guest speaker—Josephine Chiong! That certainly wasn’t me! The reason given was hilarious (I toted my sense of humor along and it came in handy). The person-in-charge was insisting my name was Josephine. Then when I showed him one of my books, he slapped his forehead. It’s the book the school has been using for the kids’ daily devotions for two years! And was I really the author?

They were quick to rectify the error—the big screen was revised to display my name. But I had to alter the first part of my speech to add a joke or two about “Josephine.” This part was totally impromptu—and was rewarded with laughter. Then their computer refused to move.

Third bubble.

I made sure lower grade meant grade school, not prep school. There were two streamers in the school’s two entrances with my correct name on them. A welcoming committee pinned a corsage on my lapel, then ushered me into a gym decked with red carpet and fresh flowers. The principal who gave the welcome remarks talked about “excellence” and “what it takes to win awards.” That should have been a clue to what was coming, but you know how it is when you’re having pre-speaking jitters. You’re not wired to be sensitive.

My speech was impeccable I thought. I got the laughter in the right places and had the audience nodding on every point made. When I got back to my seat, I felt my blood drain and ooze out of my soles.

It was Recognition Day, not Graduation Day! No wonder the almost 200 kids were in all sizes—they were aged 7 to 12! I immediately reviewed my cue sheets and heaved a sigh of relief when I saw no slide with “graduation” on it, but it was a bubble nonetheless.

And I thought I was thorough—absolutely and positively! My son (I can’t remember which one at this point), quickly changed this to “posolutely and absitively” to dramatize my state of frustration.

Are there lessons to be learned from these? Tons, but the biggest one, I think, is the one reason I blog in the first place: grace.

Every speaking engagement is a one-time occasion involving a different cast of characters in a different play on a different stage. Nights and days of preparation do not guarantee a flawless run. Bubbles cam appear before and during the show.

What is guaranteed though is that the message, through painstaking preparation, is a seed planted in young minds. For only by grace can one ponder, examine, and reflect on the words and visuals that make concepts chewable for a young audience.

And as I blog this minute, grace has allowed me to go beyond the bubble and see the remaining facets that shine. On these three occasions, they were the undivided attention, big hugs, cheery smiles, brazen nudges, and light touches from a host of little angels who were my audience.

P.S.

If you see me wearing a sparkling diamond ring sometimes, don't be misled. That's the cheapy with a tiny bubble in it.