There has been one thing that throughout my life has made me shake uncontrollably with fear, that has made me sick to my stomach, that has brought me to the verge of tears, and that is public speaking. When I found out that I was going to take public speaking, I went into shock. I pretty much was sweating uncontrollably, and I nearly had a heart attack. I am terrified of it in every way. I feel that if I have a bad speech, people will think less of me as a person for it, but at the same time if I get into it, I feel like I'd look stupid. Some people can do it effortlessly. They can stand in front of hundreds of people and make fools of themselves... I am not one of those people... Or at least I wasn't until the other week when I told this story in my public speaking class about my pet, Ginger.

The first Ginger entered my family when my Grandfather came to America to escape Nazi persecution. He was a lone Jew in an anti-Semitic world, who had left his family behind in Germany. Somehow he happened to come across a Chihuahua, and he befriended the dog as it became his family. With Ginger, my Grandfather soon was married, and started our family business, Bendheim.

My Grandfather's first business partner, or Bendheim's fist employee, happened to have a dog that would often come into work while Ginger was there. Ginger did not get along with many dogs, but this dog was different. It was a French bulldog, and not much bigger than Ginger herself. To make a long story short they mated, and the first Buhuahua, was born.
I don't know the original name of the dog, because several months after she was born, Ginger died from cancer, and the puppy was named Ginger in her memory. Ginger Jr. was given to my father when he was a little boy, and my dad grew up with her. When Ginger began to grow older, my dad introduced her to his neighbors dog which happened to be a French bulldog, and the Buhuahua lineage continued.

Over the years, there have been many Ginger's, both males and females, within my family. In the neighborhood my dad grew up in, the Jaysons were known for their Buhuahuas. The lineage was never tarnished, for only French bulldogs and Chihuahuas bred into the family, and only Jaysons owned them.

I was five when Ginger was given to me. Ginger must have been eighth or ninth generation, and she was the only puppy in her litter. Over the years, the other Buhuahuas died of old age and it was up to me to keep the pedigree going.

Ginger would sleep next to my head every night on an extra pillow that I had for her. Every day as I came home from school she would yap with excitement. If I was late, she would find my mom and whine to her. When I looked into her eyes, they weren't eyes of a dog, but rather understanding eyes of a friend.

Once Ginger bit my hand by accident as we were playing tug of war, and she drew a little blood. It didn't hurt, but she caught me by surprise and made me yelp. As soon as she realized that she hurt me, she put her tail between her little legs and lovingly licked my hand until the bleeding stopped.

I never yelled at her... I didn't need to... She understood when she did something wrong and when I was upset at her.

One day when I was ten, I took ginger out to Sarachi's pond with me to go for a swim. We used to do this often, because Ginger loved swimming. I would throw a tennis ball into the pond, not far from the shore, and she would push it back to me with her nose (her mouth wasn't big enough to get around the ball). I found it amusing watching her swim, kicking her small legs trying to stay afloat and push the ball at the same time.

This day was no different from any other, the sun was out and there was a slight breeze. It was starting to get cool outside, so I had my jacket on. I walked with Ginger to the pond, and I had two tennis balls with me, In case one was lost, and Ginger was happy to be outside, sniffing everything she walked by.

We got to the lake, and I took her off the leash, and threw the ball into the water. She swam out and pushed it back to me. We did this for twenty minutes or so, before I tried to throw it further. She had never swam so far out before, but I was confidant that she could make it. She swam out there with no problem, and began to push it back. Suddenly her head went underwater, and after several seconds, resurfaced with a painful yelp. I felt sick to my stomach, and I jumped into the pond clothes and all. Right as I jumped in, Ginger went under again. This time she didn't come up. I swam out to where I had last seen her, and dove under searching for her frantically, but to no avail. She was gone. I was hysterical, searching for her for over an hour, before my dad came to drag me away from that godforsaken pond.

My parents tried to comfort me, telling me, that it wasn't my fault, telling me that we would get another one, telling me that I had to let her go. But they were wrong. There was no other one to get, and it was my fault. If only I hadn't thrown the ball further. That day, September 15, 1997, I lost my pet and my best friend to a snapping turtle, and I drove the Buhuahua into extinction.
How would you feel killing your best friend?

Pretty powerful story, huh? You should have seen the reaction of my classmates. Jackie, angry at the snapping turtle, Ben Browning had his head between his legs... wouldn't look up, Rollie Peterkin sobbing. Cricket did some research to fine me a new Buhuahua. What they didn't know was that this story was all made up, all fabricated, all 100% untrue.
Why did I do this?

We were asked in class to write a personal speech, something emotional that we could share with the class, but throughout my life nothing overly emotional has happened to me. While I know that having a lack of depressing stories is something to be proud about, this put me at a disadvantage with the rest of the class. My parents had a divorce, but they still get along well today, my dad takes my mom out to dinner with his fiancee while Maria and I are at school. After hours of brainstorming, I couldn't find an aspect of my life that would be emotional to the rest of the class, so I made it up. My dad threw out the term Buhuahua as a joke, and I ran with it. I don't even know if a Buhuahua is even possible to breed.

I had never had a way with words, or grasped people with my stories, but as I wrote about my Buhuahua, it felt different. I felt as if it did happen. I practiced the speech at least a thousand times, in front of the mirror, my mom and dad, and Clement, and I felt ready to go. When I got up in front of the class, I was nervous as hell, but as the story went on, I felt like Mr. Kampmann, an actor. I fell into the role I played, and I tricked myself into believing every word I said. When I finished and looked up, I felt something that I had never felt before. I felt like I had power over my audience instead of them having power over me.

Was it deceptive? Yes. Was it wrong? Entirely. Was it manipulative? Totally. But it did help me become a better speaker. Through that speech, I learned how to get into the speech and how to throw my emotion in as well. I learned that by harnessing my emotion, I could grab at everyone else's feelings. I feel like I got over my fear of public speaking, and I learned an important lesson: It is easy to be deceived. It is easy to be tricked. It is easy to fall vulnerable to other's lies, and while part of me feels guilty for what I did, the rest is patting myself on the back, for I feel that this has made me more mature, has helped me get over my fear of public speaking and learn a very important skill, acting.

You know what the irony of all of this is? I'm actually thinking of starting the Buhuahua breed, so if anyone out there had a French Bulldog or a Chihuahua, we need to talk.

Thank You

Ben Jayson
Blair Academy 2006

Back to Steward/ess in Paradise