When Bob was still in grade school, he'd had to do many oral reports. Bob hadn't always enjoyed others watching him, as watching equaled judging, and his pride couldn't handle anyone believing him incompetent at anything. When Bob was ten, he'd had quite a nasty teacher, Mr. Semple, who not only belittled Bob, but encouraged the other students to taunt him. This made the mere thought of oral reports especially sickening.
Bob chose a time when he was alone in order to practice this particular speech. It seemed counter-productive, but anxieties were hard to break. Besides, at other times when Bob spoke before his class, he imagined being alone. It was less crude than picturing everyone else in their underwear.
Unfortunately, Bob's little rehearsal didn't progress well. His mouth dried out, and he couldn't help but imagine everyone laugh at him. The unpleasant fantasy mutated into violent images of what Bob wanted to do to his classmates and his evil bully of a teacher.
His face and fingers twitched, and Bob began to scratch at his face. He rocked back and forth on his heels, and his hands moved into his hair, pulling out a few small chunks. Then, his mother's shouting voice got into his head.
"Robert Underdunk Terwilliger, what do you think you're doing to yourself?"
Judith stood in the doorway, and this took Bob by surprise, as she was usually out with her haughty friends or at a rehearsal, or occasionally some sort of meditation class.
"Robert, what in the world is the matter? You've started to resemble a lunatic!"
Bob couldn't answer his mother right away, as he needed to take several deep breaths. Once he'd calmed down to an extent, Bob held up his speech.
"I'm having a few difficulties with practicing my oral assignment. I can recite it on my own, but when I think about doing so in front of my entire class...and Mr. Semple..." Bob clenched his teeth, then tried to relax himself again. "I don't believe I can recite it properly."
"Of course you can," Judith said. "Think of your speech as a performance. Performing is in your blood."
Bob growled and crumpled his speech in his feet. Then, he started to stamp his huge feet in the manner of a much younger child.
"I can't do it, Mother! If I were to make a mistake-"
Judith placed both of her hands on Bob's shoulders, which somehow calmed him instantly.
"You won't make a mistake, Robert."
Bob pouted and let his hair droop into his eyes. "With all due respect, Mother, I-"
Judith bent down so that she was directly looking into Bob's eyes. She brushed a few locks of her son's messed-up hair out of his face and said in a firm voice, "You won't make a mistake, Robert, because I'm going to help you practice."
Bob hugged his mother so hard that she wobbled in a most undignified way. But she didn't complain, instead returning the embrace.