It's Time To Speak My Piece

Across the Fence #525

If you have young children or grandchildren, you’ve probably heard this verse. “I am a snowflake as special as can be, there is nobody else exactly like me.” That comes from Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood, a cartoon adaption of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood. Just like Mr. Rogers always had a positive message for young children, Daniel Tiger also has positive stories for children. In this case, it’s time for the Christmas program, and Daniel Tiger gets to recite this “piece” to open up the program and welcome the people. 

I think most of us have had to get up in front of family, friends, and strangers at some point in our life and recite a piece. It can be a terrifying experience, not just for young children, but for grownups too. It can also be a great confidence booster when you recite your lines, even though you’re terrified, and deliver them like you’d practiced them a hundred times. When the audience claps, you walk off the stage feeling on cloud nine.

Author Jerry Apps tells the story about his first piece when his one-room school held their Christmas program. He didn’t want to do it. He felt like the majority of us do when we’re faced with the prospect of standing in front of an audience and reciting our piece. His teacher told him to look at the damper on the stove pipe in the back of the room. That way, everyone would think he was looking at them, but he was really concentrating on the damper. It worked and he delivered his lines with no problems. Jerry is now a wonderful speaker and storyteller. He told that story at a recent talk at the Weber Center in La Crosse. He then jokingly said, you thought I was looking at you, but I was looking at the back of the room. All of us could have listened to Jerry talk for hours!

My relative, Marjorie Haugen, could still recite her first piece seventy years after she delivered her lines at Smith School. The year was 1931 and they were living on a farm my great grandfather Sherpe owned on Hove Hill, just south of Westby, where Sherpe Road now joins Highway 14.

Marjorie said she was almost four years old and would start school the next fall. The teacher, Sadie Roiland, another of our relatives, sent a note to her parents asking if she would take part in the Christmas program, along with a “piece” that she wanted her to memorize. Marjorie said her mother (Agnes Steenberg) and her recited that “piece” over and over. Her mother must have done a good job, because Marjorie remembered it until the day she died!

“Of all the Santa Claus pictures that I have seen in my young days – there is one thing about them that I would really like to know! Does he travel with a wagon when there ain’t no snow?”

Just like Daniel Tiger, Marjorie was the first one on the program, so she didn’t know where to stand, because not being in school yet, she hadn’t rehearsed with the rest of the students. She walked up on the stage and stood way over in the corner. Sadie didn’t correct her, she was just happy that Marjorie was brave enough to say her “piece.” The part Marjorie remembered most about that evening was Santa coming with a bag of candy for them, and she wondered why Santa wore a barn jacket instead of a red one? I told Marjorie that Santa was getting older and may have forgotten where he left his jacket, and borrowed a barn jacket from a farmer near Smith School.

I don't have any photos of our Christmas programs, but this is a photo of Smith School students in 1955 standing in the front of the room that became the stage during our programs. I'm standing 4th from the left. My brother, David, is seated, second from the right. Our teacher was Katheryn Navrestad, standing at right. There were only 20 students in all eight grades that year. Four students are missing from the photo.

Twenty years after Marjorie stood on the stage at Smith School, I found myself in front of a packed schoolroom on the same stage, and had to recite my piece. I have no memory of what I said or if I was able to deliver my lines. All I can tell you is that I was petrified, not just terrified. All those faces staring at me. Unlike Jerry App’s teacher, mine didn’t tell me to look past the audience. All I saw were “thousands” of people. OK, it wasn’t thousands. I don’t think Smith School could have held a hundred people if they were packed in shoulder to shoulder, but to a young, petrified child who was afraid he’d become tongue-tied and forget his piece, it was a traumatic experience. I must have survived because I’m still here.

Eventually, the Christmas program became a highlight of our days at Smith School. As we got older we graduated from just saying a piece to having parts in the short Christmas plays we performed. Because we didn’t have an abundance of students, we often had more than one part in a play. One year I had two parts in A Christmas Carol. I ended up also playing the father, when Joel Thompson came down with the measles the day before the program. Luckily, we all knew each other’s lines because we’d been practicing our “pieces” for weeks.

The Christmas program was an important part of our education and the life of our rural community. As we learned “how to speak our piece,” we learned memorization, public speaking, and how to confront and overcome our fears. That’s a pretty good education.

*