Skulking Sharks & My Own Socially Awkward Self

So, the link is tenuous, but bear with me while I attempt to make the subjects sound cohesive. Going back, oh I don’t know, three or four days, I watched the brilliant “Jaws” for what must be the gazillionth time. P.S. If you’re expecting a movie review, don’t! This is NOT a review, but you all know what happens anyway – in the film, at least. As with any great flick that was adapted from a novel, it made me want to read (or in this case, reread) the book. Unfortunately for me, I gave my paperback copy to the local Methodist Chapel’s collection several years ago. Kindle to the rescue!

Now, these wonderful digital libraries may fall short of replicating the feel of printed pages in your hands, or the leafy rustle as you progress through someone else’s marvellous mind. Yet in the wee small hours when your eyes are getting heavy and your hands descend as gracefully as a humpback whale in the deep blue, sleepy ocean, I’d personally take a bonk on the nose from my Kindle as opposed to losing my page in the paperback any day.

Diving into the novel again, I drifted back helplessly on its controlling current to my younger years. The mass hysteria sweeping the world, terrifying people out of the water, passed me by like a ghost ship under the cover of night. What feelings did it stir for you, dear readers? I’d like to know. For myself, rather than inducing a fear in me, the film awakened a borderline obsession with these sublime creatures.

So, English class, the ‘Five Minute Talk.’ A situation where many thrive, though my own socially awkward self near shat myself! My topic was obvious: Sharks. My hands were shaking. I felt ready to puke. I couldn’t look up to face my fellow classmates; the thought of eye contact was too much. My monotonous voice reeled off line after line of the most mundane shark facts. It was tame. It was drab. I should have just gone with the blood and guts and gore, sod those who are easily sickened by graphic descriptions. I could have even added images of mauled or missing limbs for good measure.

I knew it was bad. Standing in front of a crowd, all the attention on me, is to this day still not my forte – I didn’t even manage a speech at my own wedding. So, imagine this: less than a fortnight later my cousin’s class in the year above are given tips on how to jazz up their five-minute speeches. Coming home, he says to me, ‘She said, “Someone in another class did such a boring talk on sharks, I ended up counting how many times he flicked his fringe, rather than listening to him.” Was that you?’

Yes. Yes, it was me. So, if I could dare to offer some advice to teachers it would be: Don’t be a dick. I know I was when I was in school, but you’re (in her words) “Old enough and ugly enough to know better!” Don’t slag kids off, because it may just get back to them. It took me over twenty years to brave going back into a classroom to gain an English qualification. Smile you son of a...