They were still staring at me, but all their smiles had vanished and straight faces took their place. It all started in first grade when I was a new student to my elementary school. I had just moved to Highlands Ranch from my old home in Vail. The beginning weeks were easy for me until we actually started covering new material. I hated it when we had to read, write, and most of all speak out loud. I’d never raise my hand, and I hated it when my teacher would call on me. I knew I messed up my words because my eldest sister would stare at me, obnoxiously burst out in fits of giggles, and repeat how I had said it. She was really smart, and it made me feel stupid when she laughed at me. I never really accepted how bad of a speaker I was until a couple weeks later when I had to go to speech therapy for the first time. I remember being called out of class by an unfamiliar and odd lady. She had short black hair, glasses, and more wrinkles on her face than on the oldest elephant's leg. She led me to the top floor which was strictly for older children, and not a tiny first grader like me. I felt like I was on an incredible adventure exploring places I had never gone. Each door we passed was something new. They had the potential to be something amazingly awesome, but this adventure was sadly cut short when we arrived at our destination.

She took me to a strange room that was longer than it was wide, and only had one door. The room was very bright with inspirational posters filling the walls with words and neon colors. I bet they were trying to hide the fact that I was going to hate this room with all the pretty colors. There were about seven teachers in there, and they were all staring at me. I wondered why they were staring. Was it my new outfit my mom had made me wear? Was it my pigtails and short straight across bangs I cut myself? I slowly and carefully stepped through the doorway . The sickly sweet scent of their old lady perfume filled my nose. I was surprised I couldn’t smell it from all the way downstairs because the stench was incredibly strong. I blinked away the tears forming in my eyes, and stifled a cough that started building in my throat because of how strong the perfume was. The teacher who escorted me up to the room stopped by the door as if she was a guard keeping me in the cell. That really confused me. I didn’t dare say a word because when I looked up at them again I knew they were judging me. Watching me and listening to me like a hawk. The head old teacher loudly cleared her throat startling me.
    “Hi sweetie! How are you today?”, she asked in a fake peppy voice. A wide smile was plastered on all of the teachers faces. They acted like they were talking to a newborn puppy who didn't understand anything.
    I silently replied back with, “Okay. How are you?”, like I was taught. They either didn’t hear me or didn’t want to answer my question because they quickly moved on to what else they wanted to say. The lead teacher informed me of why I was there. I was there to say a few words, and when I finished I could grab a lollipop. It didn’t seem to hard, and I really wanted a lollipop so I became a little less suspicious.
    “Okay Let's get started! We’ll start with something easy. Please say “good” for us.” another teacher said. Little did she know I promised myself I would never say that word again. She didn’t know that was one of the words my sister would laugh at me for saying, so I stopped saying it. Their eyes stared at me and I grew more panicked as each slow second passed by. I suddenly realized I would have to say it, or I would never get to leave. I panned the room. All fourteen of their eyes were looking at me. I stared at the wall behind them. On it were yellow stars, red apples, and purple bows. They eased the pain that started to become worse in my heart. I just stared at them and tried to slow the tortuously fast pace of my heart. I wondered why they were so scary when they were in front of that wall. Why they had inspirational words when all they were doing to me was making me more nervous than I had ever been.

    I mustered up all my courage and after what seemed like an eternity to me I slowly said “dood”. I was almost certain that if I focused hard enough I wouldn’t mess up. I smiled when I finished, but when I looked up I noticed every single one of their huge smiles had vanished. The pearly white teeth replaced by dark red lipstick. However they were still staring at me, and right then and there I knew I had said it wrong. I felt like collapsing. I was a failure who couldn’t even talk right. I didn’t see why I couldn’t say words correctly; they sounded normal in my head. I felt like crying and never talking again, but I didn’t want to make it a big deal. I only frowned for one quick second before I had to plaster a fake smile on my face, hiding my embarrassment and sorrow.

The lady said, “ Please try again sweetie. You were so close.”, a disappointed edge to her voice so clear to me. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone, and I sure knew I didn’t want to say another word. I reluctantly continued the process of them saying the word right, and repeating it back to them completely wrong. After a few more tries they made me try with a popsicle stick on the top of my tongue. The cold bland wood coated my taste buds. Even the popsicle stick didn’t help me say words right. I grew frustrated. They couldn’t see that I was trying my best, and that I was never going to be able to say the words right. I thought no matter what they did I would always be too stupid to talk right. I knew they were just wasting their time and popsicle sticks on me. I thought I didn’t need them to try and encourage me. They were just making it worse. I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans so much in that room they started to turn red. I’d say a word, and then wipe my hands on my jeans. My brand new hand color resembled a mix of red and pink Starbursts. After half an hour, or what seemed to be the whole day passed by they rewarded me with a lollipop as promised. The catch was that I had to take a worksheet home and return again next week. I even had to get my parents signatures on each worksheet. I suddenly didn’t care about the stupid lollipop. Why did they want to torture me each week with speaking practice? Why did they think a lollipop was worth all of the stress? I remember them telling me I did great, but I knew they were lying. Trying to make me want to come back, and I knew deep down I would have to go back. I considered whether I had a choice and I realized I didn't. No matter how much I hated it I would have to go back.

That day was the start of two years of speech therapy. Each week was the same. Say words wrong to receive a worksheet or sometimes even a packet. Plus I always got a stupid lollipop. I slowly started pronouncing things right, but the memory of the mispronunciation will always stick with me. I’ve always feared I’m saying something wrong even though I’m probably not. This was the root to my fear of speaking in front of large crowds, and It affected how much I talked in general. The process was slow and painful, but the end result of me being able to say the words right was worth it in the end. I’ll never be able to forget this memory because it had a big impact on how I am today. It changed how much I speak, but I don’t regret going. Even though I might still feel like I’m saying something wrong because of those years I know I have a better chance of saying them right.