I have watched with some interest as a dozen or more candidates smile, deliver speeches and kiss babies in their effort to be elected President of the United States in 2016.  These brave souls are subjected to scrutiny that would make even the most stalwart politician quake in his or her designer shoes.

I wince as nervous candidates field questions about inconsistencies in their statements, or stumble over themselves trying to remember statistics, or work hard to look just right.  Because I am an empathetic person, I feel anxious right along with them.

I don’t want to watch any candidate endure the pain of looking stupid or inexperienced.  I want each one to speak and perform well and to feel good about his or her effort in this endeavor.

I wish everyone could possess this “good-about-myself” feeling because I know how miserable it is to feel bad about myself.  Many times I have been uncomfortable with the way I looked or performed, and I hate feeling like that.

When I was about 13, I had a growth spurt and was suddenly taller than my mother, my grandmother, and the aunts with whom I sat at church.  When we stood to sing or to pray, I felt like a sunflower in a daisy patch.  Feeling ungainly, oversized and awkward, I suspected that everyone in the room was looking at and laughing at me.

In this same, small church that I attended, only two Sunday School classes were provided for the kids:  a little kids’ class and a big kids’ class.  I transferred from one class to the other somewhere around fifth grade.  I was nervous the first Sunday that I attended the big kids’ class.  The last thing I wanted to do was call attention to myself.

Unfortunately, I entered the room, sat down on a folding chair and placed the palm of my right hand on the seat of the chair next to me where a yellow jacket happened to be resting.  It stung me, of course, and I jumped up, screaming and wildly shaking my hand.  So much for my inconspicuous entrance into the world of the big kids.

Another time I was conversing with a group of people with whom I felt a bit uncomfortable.  They were discussing a fire that had burned a field in our community.  Wanting to enter the conversation, but also feeling timid, I nervously made a comment.  Regrettably though, I transposed the beginning of two words in the sentence and what I said was, “I wonder what caused the star to fart.”

My experiences prove that even when people do their best, no one is perfect in appearance, speech and conduct 100% of the time.  Yet, a 100% person is the one I want to see sitting in the Oval Office of the White House.

Remind me never to run for President.

©Debbie Scales          January 3, 2016          486 Words